The Sound of Silence
by SleepyGirl27
Summary: After being kidnapped by a demon, Sam must deal with a life-changing injury. Sam is 12 and Dean is 16.
1. Chapter 1

Twelve-year-old Sam Winchester cocked his head to the side and listened. He could have sworn he heard something at the door. He jumped up off the bed and re-checked the locks for the eighth time that night. He went back to his bed and plopped down. He heard a sound again and felt butterflies in his stomach.

His father and brother had left two days ago to investigate a series of animal attacks in the mountains to the north of the small Colorado town where they had been staying for the past two weeks. His father suspected a Wendigo. Sam didn't know much about Wendigos except that they were found in the most remote areas and were terribly deadly. His father had allowed him to accompany them on some of the less risky hunts over the past few months, but a Wendigo was way out of his league. He hadn't argued when his father told him he couldn't come, but he had silently panicked when he found out his dad had planned to take Dean. He knew Dean had never hunted anything so dangerous, and he was afraid for his brother. He was also ashamed to admit to himself that he was petrified of being left alone.

Most kids his age would kill to be left alone for a couple of days, but Sam knew way too much about the horrors that were out there. His father rarely left him by himself and never for more than a day. John had tried to get one of his other hunting buddies to accompany him on the hunt, but no one had been available. To Sam's dismay, he had decided to take Dean.

He was actually only alone for one day when he thought about it. He wasn't alone all day at school, and he wasn't alone while he sat in the library after school. Unfortunately, Sam didn't feel much safer in the company of strangers than he felt at home alone. Dean had always accompanied him to school, and he always had the comfort of knowing he was close by.

With Dean gone, he tended to take more notice of the threats that lurked. The bullies in school took more notice of him without the protection of his brother's glare. The nosey teachers and their implied threat of bringing Social Services his way loomed darker in the absence of his brother.

Worst of all was the crazy bum on the street near the motel that called him Charlie every time he passed. It had started almost a week after his family had moved into town. On their way home from school, Dean and Sam passed by a lonely looking man who appeared to have made himself a home in the alleyway behind the gas station across from their motel. As they passed by, Sam heard an astonished gasp from the old man, and glanced his way.

"Charlie?" the man stared at him as if he was a ghost. "Charlie, is that you?"

Sam had wanted to answer, but Dean grabbed his shirt and pulled him along, muttering something about a creepy old freak.

When Dean and Sam passed by the man again on their way home from school the next day, the bizarre occurrence from the previous day played out again. Dean chuckled a little. The man seemed harmless. He was old and seemed like he could barely walk. The man seemed convinced, however, that Sam was someone named Charlie. Dean had enough when the same thing happened on the third day, and they started taking a longer route home from school to avoid walking by the gas station.

After Dean had left on the hunt with his dad, Sam had started going to the library after school. The library seemed more comforting than the dirty motel room, and he found himself spending two or three hours there each night while he did his homework.

Unfortunately, the library was right next to the gas station.

It made no sense for Sam to walk all the way around the block, away from the motel, to avoid walking by the creepy old man, so he chose to take his chances walking by the alley. The first night, the old man recognized him right away.

"Wait, Charlie, please!" he had called as Sam walked by. Sam picked up the pace, almost running to the motel. The same thing happened the following two nights. Thank goodness Dean and his dad would be home by tomorrow. The old man seemed harmless, but he still gave Sam the creeps.

Sam got up for the ninth time to check the locks. He also checked the salt lines. Satisfied that none of the lines had been disturbed, he settled back onto the bed and turned the television up, hoping the sound would drown out the noises from outside. He silently chastised himself for being such a baby.

_Suck it up, Winchester._

He would never admit to his father or his brother how scared he was. Winchesters weren't supposed to be afraid. He was supposed to be tough. His father had been getting progressively harder on him over the past several months, and Sam felt the constant strain of his father's disappointment in his weakness. When Dean was his age, he was left home alone with Sam all the time.

Another noise at the door brought Sam out of his thoughts and his stomach dropped. This time, he knew it wasn't his imagination. Something was definitely at the door. Panicked, he reached for the .45 that his father had left for him. He'd used the gun several times in target practice, but he'd never had to use it in a real live situation. He held his breath and stared, horrified, as the doorknob slowly turned. Someone or something was trying to get in.

* * *

Dean leaned his head against the window of the Impala as his father drove down the narrow stretch of highway toward town. He was exhausted. He had been elated when his father told him he could accompany him on this hunt, but he'd had no idea just how taxing a hunt like this could be.

The Wendigo had toyed with them, leaving dead animals on the path and scaring the hell out of Dean. The carcasses were mauled beyond recognition. He didn't even know what kind of animals they were. They trekked all day and most of the night. Dean jumped at every noise and every shadow. The thing would tear through their campsite, faster than anything Dean had ever seen. He would try to keep up as his father would take the bait and chase the creature into the woods. Each time, they came up empty.

The exhilaration he had felt, however, when they finally caught up to the creature and torched him was remarkable. He had seen the newspaper reports of the missing hikers over the past year. To know he had a part in making sure there would be no more missing hikers was a feeling he couldn't describe.

"You still with me, Ace?" His dad asked from the driver's seat.

Dean grunted in response, and John laughed.

"That bastard a little much for you, kiddo?" John mocked.

Dean turned a deadly glare to his father in response. He knew his exhaustion was a total 180 from his state of mind only a few hours earlier. Dean had been running high on adrenaline. Now that the high had burned off, he was deflated. He and his father had toyed with the idea of camping out for the night and heading home in the morning, but they were both anxious to get back to the motel.

Dean's thoughts went immediately to Sammy. His little brother had never been home alone for more than a few hours at a time. The fact that he had been home alone for two whole days had him worried. He knew his father was worried as well, but John Winchester didn't admit to being worried or scared.

Dean watched as the lights from town that had been a distant scene only a few hours earlier enveloped them. His father made his way through the streets of the small town to the motel, and Dean felt himself relax a little bit. It felt good to be back in civilization. He hated camping.

Father and son, equally exhausted, climbed the outdoor staircase to the second floor motel room. John dug in his pocket and pulled out the keys. He tested the doorknob first and confirmed that it was locked. Had it been unlocked, Sammy would have gotten an earful. From an early age, John had taught Dean to always lock up and salt the doors and windows, and Dean had passed the same lessons on to Sam. John turned the key in the lock and slowly opened the door.

Dean, in his exhausted state, was completely unprepared for his father's next move.

"Down!" He yelled as he grabbed Dean by the back of the shirt and pulled him toward the ground.

Dean let himself be pulled down, and was immediately on high alert, his exhaustion forgotten. He hadn't gotten the chance to see what had his father alarmed before he face-planted into the rough, dirty motel carpet. He was immediately panicked. _Sammy_. What was in their motel room, and what had it done to Sammy?

"Sam, what the hell are you doing, son?" John yelled angrily. "Put the gun down!"

Confused, Dean glanced up into the room. Sammy stood behind the bed farthest from the door, his .45 aimed for the doorway. Upon hearing his father's command, he slipped the safely into place and dropped the gun onto the bed.

"I'm so sorry!" Sam panted. "I didn't know it was you!"

Before Dean could fully orientate himself to the situation, he found himself with an armful of Sammy.

"I'm so glad you're home!" Sammy said excitedly. Too excitedly. Dean hadn't seen Sam this excited since he was five years old and hopped up on ice cream and the prospect of getting to ride the merry-go-round at the park.

"Did you get the Wendigo? What was it like? Did you get to camp out? How did you keep the Wendigo away while you slept? Was it scary? Was it a long drive?" The questions raced from Sam's mouth as Dean and John pulled themselves up from the floor. Dean exchanged a glance with John. It was going to be a long night, and neither of them would get the sleep they had been hoping for.

* * *

"….and then the teacher made Jake go to the principal's office and lectured the rest of the class about the dangers of pranking. It was so lame."

Sam paused his story while he took a drink from his soda. John tried to keep himself from removing his sock from his foot and shoving it into his son's mouth. He and Dean had been gone for two days on a hunt, leaving Sam by himself. John normally would not have left his youngest alone, but he had needed Dean's help. He'd called the school and told them Dean was ill, and the two of them had headed into the mountains that towered over the small Colorado town. There had been several wild animal attacks reported, but John had confirmed his suspicion that it had in fact been a Wendigo threatening the local population.

It hadn't taken long for them to track the creature down and burn it, but John had been anxious to get back to his youngest. He hated the thought of leaving Sam alone for a single day, let alone two. Sam was 12 years old and wise beyond his years, but John still felt a great deal of pain in his gut every time the kid was left alone. When Dean was 12, he was not only taking care of himself, but he had cared for an 8-year-old Sam as well. For some reason, leaving Dean alone with Sam didn't worry John as much. John knew that Dean would never let any harm come to his little brother, and that made him feel safe leaving Sam in his care. Dean could take care of himself, and he could take care of Sam.

He knew he was too hard on Sam at times, and his guilt over the matter kept him up at night. Dean balanced things out. He was Sam's mother hen. John often worried that he hadn't done enough to toughen Sam up. He couldn't understand how his two sons were so different. He never worried about Dean, but he constantly worried about little Sammy getting hurt. He had started taking Sam on some of the less intense hunts, hoping that the exposure would toughen his youngest up a little. Sam had held his own, but the prospect of moving him up to something more challenging had John on edge. Sammy would get hurt. He just knew it.

Rushing back to town hadn't been necessary. John had found Sam safe and sound in their rented motel room, ready to blow their heads off as they opened the door. Sam had apparently been unprepared for their return and suspected an intruder. Sam had clearly missed them way too much. He had started talking the second they walked in the door and hadn't stopped since. His incessant chatter had both the elder Winchesters regretting their hasty return. Sam seemed to find it necessary to fill them in on every detail of everything that had occurred in school, at home, and in town during the time they were gone. John knew the kid had just missed having someone to talk to and was trying his hardest to be patient, but his patience was growing very thin.

John sensed that Sam was about to begin talking again, and he exchanged a pained glance with Dean.

"Sam," John cut Sam off before he could start in with what he'd had for lunch yesterday. "Why don't you finish up your burger so we can get back. It's getting late, and you have school in the morning."

Sam visibly deflated, and John felt a pang of guilt, but he truly did want to leave. They'd been sitting in the diner for over an hour. Dean and John had finished their meals long ago, but Sam had been so busy talking, he'd barely touched his food.

"I'm done," Sam said quickly.

John eyed the burger. There was no way he was going to let his youngest leave without finishing at least half. The kid was way too skinny, and it made John nervous. He sometimes worried that he didn't feed Sam enough. He knew Sam was a growing boy and probably wasn't getting adequate nutrition, but John was often distracted and would realize late at night that he couldn't remember whether or not his boys had eaten. When he did take them someplace to eat, Sam hardly ever touched his food. It drove John crazy.

"Eat," John said sternly. "We're not leaving here until you clean that plate."

He heard Dean groan next to him and pierced his oldest with a hard glare.

"We'll be here all night," Dean complained. "I'm friggin exhausted, Dad."

John could feel Dean's pain. He was exhausted too. They had come straight from the hunt, having been up for over 24 hours. John had wanted to go straight to bed, but he could feel the energy coming in waves off his youngest and knew he wouldn't let them sleep without getting the chance to talk their ears off for awhile. He had been hungry and knew Dean was hungry as well. He wouldn't have been surprised to learn Sam hadn't eaten a thing while they were gone, so he had decided to haul his boys off to the diner down the street from their motel. His stomach now full, he was ready to sleep for a very long time.

"Half then," John negotiated. "You need to start eating, young man," he added, pointing a finger at Sam. "Food is energy. If you don't get enough, you get weak."

"Yes, sir," Sam mumbled. He took a bite of his burger and chewed with a petulant look on his face.

"Man, I am wiped," Dean started. "You should have seen this thing, Sammy. It was fast. And fu-u-u-ugly."

Sam laughed, and John smiled. Leave it to Dean to step in and lighten the mood. Dean smiled and mussed Sam's hair.

"But it was fun, Sam. You step up your training, and Mr. Drill Sergeant over here might let you in on the next one," Dean pointed his thumb in John's direction. John sighed audibly but silently thanked Dean for his backup.

Sam smiled and took another big bite of his burger, and John smiled in astonishment. Sam seemed to resent John's criticism and militaristic rules, but when Dean asked him to up the ante, Sam complied like a puppy intent on making his owner happy.

* * *

Simon Granger was a man of few words. Life had taken many things away from him, but he was content to sit in his alley and not ask anything more from the world around him. If he stayed just quiet enough, the world left him alone.

But when he saw his Charlie, he knew God was finally giving him the break he'd prayed for all these years. His beautiful, sweet boy had been taken from him at such a young age, but God was giving him back to Simon. Simon just couldn't understand why Charlie wouldn't come to him.

For three days, he had watched Charlie walk by with the older boy, and for three days, he had called out to Charlie but received no reply. It was maddening. Why would God bring back his son only to keep him cruelly just out of reach?

He watched for Charlie every day. For nearly two weeks, he didn't see him. He thought maybe it had only been a dream until one day, he saw his Charlie walk by again. This time, the older boy wasn't with him. Again, he called out to his boy, and again, his boy ignored his pleas.

It happened again the two following days. Each day, he called out to his Charlie, and every single time, his Charlie ignored him. Simon wept into his dirty hands. Why would God play such a cruel joke on him?

Simon felt a chill run down his spine. The cool fall air was starting to smell like winter. He hated the winter. It was so much harder to stay quiet and out of the way in the winter. It got too cold and he had to find warmer places to stay.

At first, Simon thought he was imagining things. He could have sworn he saw a black cloud of smoke flying along the ground. He looked again, and the black cloud was still there. The cloud flew at him, and darkness descended on him.

* * *

Sleep came easy for all three Winchesters that night. Sam knew his father and his brother were exhausted and needed sleep. He didn't want to let on how badly he had needed sleep too. He had barely slept a wink since his father and his brother left. Now that they were both home, he felt safe again. Sleep came easy for him.

When Sam's alarm went off in the morning, he immediately turned it off, not wanting to wake his family. He quickly showered and dressed and raced off to school, knowing that Dean would be skipping school again that day. He needed sleep.

Sam went through his day in a daze. He didn't take note of homework assignments and talked very little with the few kids with whom he had formed anything resembling a friendship. His father and brother had killed the Wendigo. He knew that meant they would be moving on. He supposed he wouldn't be surprised to find them packed and ready to go by the time he got home.

Sam didn't even realize he had taken the library route home instead of the long way around until he approached the block where the gas station was. He had gotten so used to taking the same route the previous three days that he hadn't thought about where he was going as he walked home from school. Deciding to suck it up, he took a deep breath and kept his head low to the ground as he passed the dreaded alleyway behind the gas station. As predicted, he heard the old man call to him.

"Charlie, stop, please!" Sam was alarmed by the force behind the old man's voice. The man had always had a quivering, soft voice before, but this time, there was something behind his plea that made Sam stop.

Sam watched warily as the old man stood up and began walking toward him. The wobbly gait of the old crazy man was gone, replaced by deliberate movements of a stronger, more determined individual.

"I-I'm not C-Charlie," Sam stuttered. He cautiously backed away from the man, dropping his backpack slowly to the ground in preparation for making a run for it.

"Don't be ridiculous, Charlie!" the man chastised. "Come here!"

"I'm s-sorry, s-sir," Sam said. He berated himself for his stammer. Why couldn't he be more confident? "I don't know who you are. I have to get home…"

Sam started to back up further as the man suddenly charged forward and grabbed his shirt.

"You listen to me when I'm talking to you, Samuel Winchester," Sam gasped in shock as the strange old man's eyes turned black. He opened his mouth to scream, but the man's hand came over his mouth, blocking his effort. He felt himself being thrown into the alley and panic raced through his body. _Oh God oh God oh God_.

An invisible force pushed him from behind, and he watched the brick wall of the gas station rush toward his head. An incredible pain penetrated his forehead as everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you so much for the encouraging comments! They definitely motivated me to post the next chapter quickly! Hope you enjoy it.

* * *

Dean stuffed the last of his clean socks into his duffel and took a quick glance around the room. He felt satisfied that everything was packed and he was ready to go. He knew his dad was anxious to get on the road. He had already packed all of Sam's belongings so that they could leave as soon as his kid brother got home from school. _Speaking of…_

Dean glanced at his watch. 4:05. Sam should have been home half an hour ago. Thinking geekboy had probably stopped at the library on the way home, Dean plopped down on the bed and turned the TV on. If Sam wasn't back within the next half hour, he'd go across the road to the library and drag his skinny little ass home. He didn't want to sit through another fight between his father and his younger brother. He hoped Sammy would have enough sense to know they'd be heading out today. Nothing had been said, but Dean knew his dad already had another hunt lined up in South Dakota. He hoped they would be staying with Bobby. If that was the case, he'd probably get the chance to go on another long hunt. His dad never felt worried about leaving Sam alone at Bobby's. Bobby had enough protection in his house to keep a mouse safe from a hungry snake.

Dean was relieved to hear the front door jiggle. Figuring it was Sam, he unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door. His father stood there with his key in his hand.

"Thank you, Dean," John said awkwardly as he pocketed the key. He moved past Dean into the room and glanced around. Dean immediately tensed up as he saw his father scowl and look at his watch. "Where is Sam?"

"Not home from school yet," Dean said casually as he closed the door. "I figured he probably stopped at the library. I was gonna go get him in the next half hour or so…."

"Go get him now," John cut Dean off. "I want to get on the road. I'll get the gear loaded up and get us checked out."

"Or I could go get him now," Dean mumbled sarcastically.

"Hurry up," John said sternly, clearly angered by the fact that Sam was delaying their departure.

Dean sighed and grabbed his coat. He headed outside into the crisp fall air and made his way across the deserted street. The library was down the next street just past the gas station. He grew a little bit nervous as the memory of the creepy old man from behind the gas station suddenly flooded his brain. He had forgotten all about the guy. Clearly a nutcase, he had called out to Sammy every time they passed, calling him Charlie.

An uneasy feeling settled in Dean's gut, and he hurried his pace, suddenly very anxious to find his little brother. As he rounded the corner behind the gas station, his heart sank into his stomach as he caught sight of Sam's backpack lying discarded in the middle of the sidewalk next to the alley.

Dean broke into a run, on full alert. He jumped into the alley, hoping to see Sam there. His stomach churned as he found the alley empty.

"Sam?" Dean yelled out at the top of his lungs, panicked. "Sammy!"

Frantic, Dean began searching. He burst into the gas station and did a quick sweep. He checked the restroom and all the aisles. After reaching the conclusion that Sam wasn't there, he raced back out to the street and searched each direction. He ran up and down the sidewalk, checking every alley and doorway. He ran into the library and ignored the irritated glare of the librarian as he yelled for his brother. He searched every row but found no sign of Sam. His panic grew with each passing moment. Sam was missing.

* * *

John growled in irritation as he checked his watch again. Dean had left nearly 20 minutes ago to get Sam. The fact that Sam had decided to stop off at the library when he knew they needed to get on the road had angered John to no end. He felt positive that his son did these things purposefully to get a rise out of him. Deep down, John knew that wasn't true, but there was a part of him that believed it and let it get him angry.

_Oh you have GOT to be kidding me._

John's anger rose infinitesimally as he watched Dean jog toward him. He was very clearly missing a younger brother.

"I told you to bring your brother home," John growled. "Where is..."

John suddenly stopped as he caught the look of sheer panic on Dean's face. "Dean?"

"Dad, I can't find him," Dean's voice quivered as he leaned over and placed his hands on his knees, clearly trying to catch his breath. "I found his backpack, but he's gone. I looked everywhere."

"Gone?" John felt frozen. He wasn't expecting this and the shock was leaving him speechless.

"Dad, I completely forgot about the old man. I would have never let him walk home alone today if I'd remembered..."

"Old man? What old man?" John felt anger bubbling in his chest, but he didn't know who or what to be angry at. "What the hell are you talking about, Dean?"

Having caught his breath, Dean stood up straight.

"There was an old homeless man living in the alley behind the gas station. Sam and I passed him a couple of times on our way home from school after we moved here. He kept calling Sam Charlie for some reason. He was really creepy, but seemed harmless. I started taking us on a different route home. I completely forgot about him." Dean paused and seemed to be concentrating hard on keeping his voice even. "Honestly, Dad, I would never have let Sammy walk by there alone. I just forgot..."

A jumble of possibilities raced through John's head, none of them good. Outwardly, he remained calm. Inside, he was panicking.

"This alley... is it where you found his bag?" John asked evenly.

Dean nodded.

"Show me," John said.

John followed Dean across the street to the gas station. As they rounded the corner, he saw Sam's pack lying on the ground. He jogged toward it and picked it up. He began inspecting it for any sign that indicated it had been dropped in a struggle. The pack wasn't torn and, thank God, had no blood on it.

He began searching the ground around the spot where the pack had been sitting. Seeing nothing, he moved further into the alley. He could see a small makeshift home made of cardboard boxes, and knew this must have been where the old man had been living. As he moved forward to inspect it more closely, a large, dark smudge on the brick wall of the station caught his eye. He moved forward slowly, holding his hand out to touch the wetness on the wall. His finger came away coated in a crimson color, and his stomach turned to ice. He looked down to the ground and found himself standing in a small puddle of blood.

John's world froze for a moment. There was so much blood. Not enough to indicate anyone had died here, but enough to conclude someone had been seriously injured. He prayed that the someone wasn't his little boy, but reason told him the chances were slim to none that the blood belonged to anyone else.

He felt his insides starting to shake and glanced over at Dean. Dean was watching him closely, his face paler than he'd ever seen it. He wore a horrified look on his face and John thought he was about to lose it. He snapped quickly into action. Shoving his own emotions down, he raced to Dean and grabbed his oldest by the shoulders.

"We'll find him, Dean," John made his voice as stern as he could muster, making no room for argument. "We'll find him, and he'll be okay."

_Please, God, let him be okay._

Dean nodded numbly as tears spilled out of his eyes and dripped down his cheeks. John looked away briefly, allowing his son a moment to collect himself. He heard Dean sniff and glanced back at him as he wiped at his eyes.

"Get it together, son," John said huskily. "Sammy needs us."

* * *

"_What are you doing to Charlie? Please. Please don't hurt my boy..."_

_Simon Granger didn't know who he was speaking to. Someone had control of his body. He had watched in horror as he grabbed Charlie and pushed him into the alley. Then, without even touching him, he seemed to shove him into the wall. There had been so much blood, Simon was sure he'd killed his lovely little boy. He could only watch in agony as the thing that had control over him picked the boy up from the ground and carried him out to an old, dark car. He shoved Charlie into the back seat of the car and shut the door._

_He got into the driver's seat, and a pair of keys appeared from his pocket. _

"_Wait, I don't know how to drive!"_

_To Simon's astonishment, he drove through the streets of Delavan toward the long, twisty highway that ran up into the mountains. He felt like he was driving forever until, finally, he turned off the highway onto an old dirt road. The road twisted up into the trees to a cabin that had been hidden from view from the highway._

_He got out of the car and opened the back door. Simon tried to keep it together as he watched himself pick up the body of his beloved Charlie and carry him into the cabin. Charlie looked like he was dead. His face as pale and covered in blood. His beautiful eyelashes rested on his cheeks. His arms dangled limply as he was carried and then flopped lifelessly as he was dropped unceremoniously onto the bed that occupied the only room of the cabin._

"Well, Mr. Winchester,"_ Simon was shocked to hear his own voice, but he hadn't spoken the words. _"Now it's time to have some fun."

_He watched himself slap Charlie's cheeks roughly. Charlie groaned in protest, but he slapped harder. Charlie slowly opened his eyes, and his face immediately grimaced in pain._

"_I'm so sorry, Charlie," Simon cried, but his mouth wouldn't form the words. The thing that had control over him wouldn't allow him to speak. It wouldn't allow him to act. He was completely helpless._

"Wake up!"_ his voice said angrily. Charlie's eyes made another attempt to open. This time, his eyes stayed open. He looked terrified._

"W-w-who are y-y-you?"_ Charlie asked timidly._

"No one you know, Sam,"_ his voice replied angrily. _"You can thank your daddy for this."

_Simon watched in horror as his hands balled up into fists and punched at Charlie's face. Charlie cried out in pain and begged Simon to stop. Simon couldn't control his own eyes and was forced to watch the horror of his poor, beautiful boy being brutally beaten by his own hands._

* * *

Dean sighed in frustration as he turned the corner that led to their motel. He'd been driving for hours. His father had allowed him to take the car out to search for his brother. They had found that if they drove around in shifts, they could look more frequently. His father was sleeping at the motel while Dean took his turn searching. When he got back, he would wake his father and take his turn sleeping while his father went out looking.

This had been the routine for three weeks.

It had become clear that the old man had taken Sam. They questioned the owner of the gas station. The owner told them the old man's name was Simon Granger. He'd been living behind the gas station for years. The only time he left the alley was when it got too cold to stay there in the winter.

Suddenly, however, the old man had disappeared. Dean and his father shared the conviction that it was no coincidence that his disappearance happened at the same time as the disappearance of Sam.

Everyone they spoke to said the same thing: Simon Granger was a harmless old man. Through a little research, John had learned that Simon had had some horrible luck in his lifetime. He lost his wife and son in a fire over 30 years ago. He'd gone crazy afterward and spent some time in a mental institution. Everyone said Simon adored his son and couldn't handle the loss. Dean hadn't been surprised to learn that the name of Simon's son was Charlie.

What Dean didn't understand was how Simon had overpowered Sam. The few times that Dean had seen him, he'd observed that the old man was sickly and unsteady on his feet. He seemed weak and fragile. Certainly not strong enough to strongarm anyone, even a 12-year-old boy.

The constant searching day after day was wearing at the nerves of both Dean and his father. Neither of them would voice their fears, but Dean knew his father feared the worst, just as he did. Despite his fears, Dean vowed that he would never give up. Not until he found Sammy.

Dean climbed the stairs to the motel room. He was surprised to see the door open a crack and was on full alert. He walked into the room and found his father sitting on the edge of his bed talking softly into the phone. As Dean entered, John raised his head to look at him, and Dean immediately noticed the unshed tears pooling in his father's eyes. His stomach turned to a large block of ice, and he found it hard to stand. He let himself fall onto the edge of the other bed as he watched his father end the phone conversation.

Dean waited in silence as his father seemed to work up the courage to speak.

"They ..." John started to speak, but his face suddenly contorted into a pained effort to keep tears at bay. It was useless. He sobbed. "They found a body, Dean."

"No." It was all Dean could say. He felt like his blood was turning to ice. This couldn't be happening. _This isn't happening this isn't happening this isn't happening._ "No," he said again, but this time his voice quivered with unshed tears.

"They found him in the woods north of town," John continued quietly. His voice was hoarse. "He... he drowned in the river."

"No!" Dean screamed as he jumped to his feet. "It can't be him! It can't be Sammy! No, Dad, please!" Dean pleaded with his father. He wanted his father to tell him it was a lie. It was a joke. It was a mistake. Anything but the truth. It couldn't be the truth.

John jumped up and grabbed Dean into a bear hug. He held him so tightly Dean found it hard to breath. He didn't care. He didn't care about anything. He just wanted Sammy back.

"I need to see him," Dean said quietly when John finally released him.

"Dean..." John's voice was quiet, but firm. Dean could hear in John's voice that he wasn't going to allow it, but Dean didn't care. He wanted to see his baby brother.

"You can take me with you now, or I can sneak in later," Dean said with a deadly edge. He didn't recognize his own voice. "Either way, I'm going to see Sammy."

* * *

John felt completely numb as he drove through town toward the hospital. They'd been there several times over the past few weeks. He and Dean had wandered through the emergency and pediatric wards searching for any sign of their missing family member. Neither had voiced the possibility that they should be searching the morgue as well. John knew it was a thought plaguing them both, but a fear they didn't want to put into words.

They were quiet as John found a parking spot. They didn't say a word to each other as they navigated their way through the hospital and found the morgue. John spoke in a low, steady voice when he told the clerk at the front desk he was there because he'd received a call. He didn't want to tell her he was there to identify the body of his son. He couldn't form those words.

She led them into a small room that held a single table. John could see the outline of a small body under the sheet, and he found it hard to breathe. He felt Dean try to move past him, and he stepped in front of him.

"Please, Dean," he begged his 16-year-old son to reconsider. "Please wait. I don't think you should see this," John pleaded.

"I have to see him," Dean begged, and his voice dropped to a whisper as he stared John straight in the eyes. "I have to see him."

John lowered his head in defeat. He wouldn't be able to stop him.

He turned to the doctor. He was an older man with graying hair. He nodded at him, and the man pulled the sheet back. John looked into the face of the young man on the table, and he began to sob uncontrollably. It was the face of a little boy whose life had been taken too soon. A young boy whose entire life had been ahead of him. But John said a silent prayer of thanks that it wasn't _his_ little boy.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you all so much for your comments!! I'm throwing out a bigger bone this time, but the next update might take a little longer. Not too long, though, I promise! I really hope you like this!

* * *

Sam felt himself coming slowly to awareness and knew immediately that he was alone. His captor made it clear when he was present. He would have never let Sam wake up slowly. If his captor had been there, he would have awoken to a kick to his already broken ribs or a boot on his broken arm. He might have awoken to the feeling of electricity running through his body as his captor burned him with a live electric wire.

Sam moaned and rolled over. He looked to the night stand next to the bed. There was a small glass of water just out of reach. It was always there, taunting him. His captor always left a glass of water just far enough away so that he couldn't reach it. Sam had been handcuffed to the bed in the center of this room for a long time. He had lost track of how long it had been. He had figured out that his captor wanted him alive. He gave him water once a day. Just enough to sustain him. Not nearly enough to quench his thirst.

And he was hungry. He was so hungry. His father used to yell at him all the time to eat, and he never listened. Now he would give anything for just a piece of bread. Anything to fill the hollow pit in his stomach.

His captor was a completely different person from the old man who had called to him from the alley every day before he was taken. This man had black eyes. He was strong, and his voice was stern. Sam had never seen a demon, but he knew they had black eyes. His father had taught him that. He was royally screwed, and he knew it.

"_Stop being such a pansy, Samantha,"_ Dean taunted from the foot of the bed.

Sam burrowed his face into the mattress, trying to get away from his brother's voice. _It's just a dream. Just a dream..._

"_Get up, Sam!"_ His father bellowed from across the room. _"You're pathetic. Such a disappointment,"_ he said, shaking his head. _"I can't believe your mother died for you. If she would have known what a brat you'd turn out to be, she would never have sacrificed herself."_

"It's just a dream!" Sam screamed, covering his ears. "You're not real!"

The hallucinations had been a regular occurrence during his time in captivity. Sam knew that deep down, he must truly be crazy. How else could he explain all the hallucinations?

It had taken him awhile to convince himself they weren't real. Even now he had a hard time with it.

"_What makes you think I'm not real, Sammy-boy?"_ Dean asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Sam tried to move away from him and leaned on his broken arm. He screamed out in pain. The broken arm was fairly new. His left arm had been cuffed to the bed from the beginning. Sam had worked at the cuff every chance he got. He'd finally managed to pull a splinter from the bedpost and had started to work at the lock on the cuff. His captor caught him in the act, however, and broke his right arm to ensure he wouldn't try it again.

His captor made it clear he was using Sam to get back at his father. He said something about how John had sent him to hell and he was determined to make him pay. He was very descriptive about the horrors he'd endured in hell, and it made the hairs on the back of Sam's neck stand on edge.

Sam heard the crunch of footsteps outside and began to panic.

"No... no... please..." Sam begged no one in particular. He knew he was about to experience pain, and he didn't know how much more his broken body could take.

* * *

_Simon pleaded with the person controlling his body to please stop. He couldn't take it anymore. He had seen his hands hurt his baby Charlie over and over again and he couldn't take any more. He didn't know if the thing that had control of his body could hear his pleas, but he continued them anyway. _

_He watched in horror as his feet took him closer and closer to the cabin. He opened the door and stepped inside. Charlie was curled up in the bed, pleading for mercy. He looked terrified, and it broke Simon's heart. _

_The person or thing that had control over him had incredible strength. Simon had learned that on the first day as it had thrown his Charlie across the room like he was a little rag doll. He knew the strength of this thing that had control of his body, so when he saw what the thing did to his Charlie next, he screamed in pain for his baby._

_He watched, terrified, as one of his hands grabbed the side of Charlie's head, and the other hand swung down hard on the other side of Charlie's head, over his ear. Charlie screamed in pain as blood poured from his ear. He watched as his hand grabbed the other side of Charlie's head and did the same thing to his other ear. Charlie's screams were horrifying. Simon sobbed as he listened to the screaming, and he began screaming with him. He screamed at the top of his lungs._

"Stop! Stop it!"_ Simon's voice yelled as he clamped his hands over his ears. _

_Was he finally being heard? He screamed louder and longer, and the being fought back by taking it out on Charlie. He started hitting him in the face and the chest. He slammed his fist down on Charlie's broken arm, eliciting another scream. Something in Charlie's face scared Simon. It was more than pain and horror at being beaten. There was a shock there that hadn't been there before. He stopped screaming, then started again, and the tone of his voice changed dramatically. _

_Simon immediately quieted down, hoping that his acquiescence would cause the thing to stop hurting his Charlie. It seemed to work. He felt his body turn around and leave the cabin. He wanted desperately to look back at Charlie, but he wasn't in charge of his feet or his head or his eyes._

* * *

John sat on the bed, pouring over his journal for the hundredth time that week. He was exhausted. It had now been over a month since Sam had been taken. They combed every town in a 20 mile radius. They'd called in help from Bobby, Caleb, Pastor Jim, and Joshua. They'd posted pictures of Sam everywhere. John convinced the police to put out a picture of Simon Granger with a tip line stating that he was wanted for questioning in the matter of the disappearance of a youth. They had told John they couldn't legally insinuate that he was wanted as a suspect since they had no evidence that he had taken Sam.

A knock at the door made him jump. Too much coffee and not enough sleep had him on edge. The door opened, and Bobby drifted in, followed by Jim.

"Anything?" John asked absently. He already knew the answer. He'd gotten the same answer over and over and over again over the past month.

"Nothing," Bobby said sharply. "Not a God-damned thing."

John looked at his friends. Jim lay a comforting hand on Bobby's shoulder. It was clear the stress was beginning to wear on his fellow hunters. His friends were close with his boys. They were surrogate uncles. Up until a few years ago, his boys had even addressed them as uncles. As they got older, the boys dropped the "uncle" when referring to John's friends, but the sentiment remained the same.

Bobby cleared his throat, and John looked away. He pretended not to notice the tears brimming in Bobby's red-rimmed eyes.

"Where's the squirt?" Bobby asked.

"He's out driving around with Caleb," John said quietly. He was worried about Dean. The kid had barely slept and he was on the verge of a total nervous breakdown.

The relief he had felt when they realized it wasn't Sam's body they found in the morgue was immeasurable. John had cried like a baby, but Dean had remained stoic and still. At first, John thought he hadn't recognized that it wasn't Sam. It took two days for John to get a word out of his oldest. That was when he had called in the reinforcements. He knew he and Dean couldn't handle this on their own.

John's phone rang, and he snatched it up immediately.

"Yes?" John answered anxiously.

"You the guy looking for your kid?" The voice on the other line asked casually, as if he was asking if he had the right number for the local pizza joint.

"Yes," John said excitedly. "Do you know something?"

"I got yer number from a buddy of mine that works for the station. I didn't want the police getting into my business, but I thought I'd let you know I seen that guy in the picture. The homeless old guy," the man drawled on casually.

John almost cried out in relief. He couldn't believe they were finally catching a break. He listened intently as the man continued.

"He rented a cabin from me last month, and I still ain't seen a penny from him. Didn't think much on it till I seen the poster sayin he was homeless. Don't know what kind of homeless guy can pay for a cabin, so I figured I ain't gonna see my money. That bein the case, I ain't gonna feel too bad about lettin you in on where he's at so you can pound on him a little for killin yer boy."

John had to keep himself from screaming into the phone that his son wasn't dead. He fought to keep silent as the man spoke, not wanting to interrupt him.

"I'm figurin after you pound on him you can get him outta my cabin so I can rent it out to someone who'll pay for it. I ain't aimin to go up there and face off with a guy who already killed a kid. You gettin yerself some revenge for yer boy and I'm gettin my cabin back. Everybody wins."

John swallowed and made his best attempt to keep the venom out of his voice.

"Where is the cabin?"

* * *

Dean watched out the window of Caleb's old truck as they drove into town. Snow was falling over the landscape, and he listened to the rhythm of the windshield wipers as they did their job to keep the snow cleared from the windshield. They'd spent the day driving through three towns to the south, but as usual, had come up with nothing. Caleb pulled into a gas station to fill up.

"I gotta take a leak," Dean said as he climbed out of the truck. He went to the men's room and relieved himself. As he washed his hands, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looked horrible. Dark smudges formed shadows under his eyes and his face was pale. He had a week-old stubble on his face. He'd only started shaving in the last few months, so the stubble wasn't much more than a five o'clock shadow, but it made him look worn and much older than his 16 years.

Dean remembered the first day he'd shaved. Sam had been at his elbow, watching his every move. He watched his reflection in the mirror as the tears welled up in his eyes.

_Why can't you find him? You're supposed to protect him,_ he silently accused his reflection. He felt the anger boil over. _How could you have let him down?_

Dean balled his hands into fists and swung at the mirror. The mirror cracked, causing cuts on his dry knuckles. The pain was a welcome change. He suddenly wanted to feel more. He wanted to feel something other than the emptiness he'd been feeling for the past month. He wanted to feel more than the helplessness that overpowered him as he felt himself giving up on finding Sammy. He hated himself for his feelings. He didn't want to give up. He couldn't give up. He couldn't. He hit the mirror again. His reflection splintered. He hit it again, and his reflection disappeared as the glass shattered to the floor.

Dean leaned over the sink. He gave in to his grief and sobbed.

Feeling the energy drained from him, Dean could barely get himself to move when he heard the pounding at the door.

"Dean?" He heard Caleb's concerned voice calling to him, and he knew he needed to answer before he kicked the door in.

"Yeah," Dean said. "Just give me a minute."

Caleb wasn't very good at listening. The door swung open, and Caleb stormed in.

"Cripes sakes," he whined as he saw the mess on the floor. "We gotta get outta here before we end up having to pay for that."

Dean laughed a little and smiled. Caleb was always good for a laugh.

"C'mon, kiddo," Caleb said as he put his arm around Dean's neck and pulled him through the door. "Can't take you anywhere."

Dean felt himself relax. He was glad Caleb had decided to come and help them with their search. Caleb was younger than the other hunters, and he had a carefree attitude that was a breath of fresh air in the solemn, serious world of hunting.

As they drove away from the gas station, Dean's phone rang. He saw that it was his father and groaned. He was probably going to get after him for being late.

"Yeah," Dean answered.

"Dean, we have something," John's voice was tight. Dean could tell he was trying to hold emotions and optimism back, but he was failing miserably. "I think I know where Sammy is. How close are you?"

"We'll be there in five," Dean said, his stomach tight. He was trying desperately not to get his hopes up, but he was failing as miserably as his father.

* * *

Sam felt the vibrations of his screams as they ripped from his throat. He knew from the vibrations that he was screaming, but he couldn't hear his own screams. The pain in his head was excruciating. He knew something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. The world had grown quiet. Deathly silent. There were no birds chirping. There were no sounds of footsteps as his captor walked out of the cabin. There was no click as the door shut behind him. There was no jangle as he moved the cuffs around on the headboard. The world had grown completely silent.

Sam rolled onto his side and sobbed. He had no idea if he was making any sound at all. The pain in his head was unbearable. His father and Dean stood in the corner, staring at him. They were saying something, but he couldn't make it out. Even his hallucinations had grown silent. Sam closed his eyes and shut them out. He was finally ready to give up. His captor had won.

* * *

John sped up the highway searching for the side road the man on the phone had instructed him to take. Dean sat at the edge of the passenger seat, searching for the same road.

"There!" Dean yelled as he caught sight of a small dirt road ahead.

John slammed on his brakes and glanced into his rear-view mirror, making sure the truck that followed them had time to stop. Caleb, Bobby, and Jim were close on his heels in Caleb's truck, but Caleb stopped short and managed to avoid rear-ending the Impala.

John maneuvered the Impala up the dirt road that led to the cabin. When it came into view, he stopped the car and jumped out. He looked around wildly and spotted a small, black car. The old man was there.

The rest of the hunters climbed out of Caleb's truck and spread out.

"How do you want to do this, John?" Jim asked quietly.

John looked at Dean. He was on edge, ready to burst through the door of the cabin, ready or not. There was no way he was going to be able to keep his oldest calm if he caught sight of Sammy. He would be useless.

"Caleb and Bobby, you go around back and see if there is a second door. Jim, Dean, and I will go in the front."

Bobby and Caleb jogged around the back side of the cabin as Dean, Jim, and John approached the front. All three hunters had their weapons out and ready as John slowly turned the doorknob and entered the cabin. His knees went weak at the image before him.

Sam lay sprawled out on a bed in the middle of the room. One of his arms was cuffed to the bed frame at an awkward angle. His body was covered in cuts and bruises, and his right arm lay at an angle that told John it was broken. He was pale and thin. Sammy had always been a skinny kid, but now he looked like a 12-year-old skeleton. Even more disturbing was the dried blood that caked the side of his head, and the fresh blood that streamed from his ears. Sam's eyes were closed, but John could see the gentle rise and fall of his son's chest, telling him he was alive.

"Oh... Sammy," Dean's voice brought John to full awareness. He tried to catch Dean as he flew past John, but the kid was too fast.

"Dean, wait," John called, but he was too late. Just as Dean approached the bed, he was thrown backward by an invisible force. He flew across the room and crashed against the opposite wall.

"Dean!" John yelled, rushing to his son's side. Dean had cracked his head against the wall and lay in an unconscious heap on the floor. He heard a low laugh behind him and quickly turned around.

Standing in the middle of the room, separating him from his youngest, was the old man. He looked tall and stern. He wasn't the old, cowering, fragile man described by the people in town. This man was strong and confident. This man wasn't a man. John looked at his black eyes and kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner. They were dealing with a demon.

"So," the demon said. "I finally get the attention of the great John Winchester."

"Who are you?" John demanded. "What have you done to my son?"

"John," the demon tisked. "I'm hurt. You don't remember your old pal Argus?"

John felt his stomach drop to his knees. Argus was a demon he had hunted five years ago. He was the first demon John had ever hunted. With Bobby's help, John had recited an exorcism that had sent the demon to hell.

"How did you get out?" John asked, genuinely curious. He felt Jim moving slowly and deliberately to the other side of the room. He tried to keep the attention of the demon as the Pastor worked his magic. He could just barely hear him muttering the Latin exorcism under his breath.

"I have my ways," the demon said with a smile.

Argus' attention shifted immediately to Jim. "Stop that!" he demanded as an invisible force threw Jim across the floor, into the wall. Jim recovered immediately and jumped back up, flask in hand. As he threw the holy water at the demon, Argus hissed angrily and charged at Jim as he kept up the litany of Latin.

John lunged forward, intercepting the demon's attack on the Pastor. Just as they landed in a jumbled heap on the floor, Caleb and Bobby charged in behind Jim. Each carried a water bottle full of holy water, and they immediately began sprinkling it over the fighting men. Argus hissed angrily as the spray of the water hit him. John wondered briefly how he was the only one who hadn't thought to bring holy water, but dismissed the question immediately. He underestimated the level of genius and preparedness of his friends.

"You don't fight fair, Winchester," he hissed angrily. "Four against one isn't good odds, even for me."

Despite the losing battle he was fighting, Argus smiled.

"You have something to say to me, you piece of shit?" John spat.

"You fool," Argus smiled through a hiss as the pain ripped through his borrowed body. "You think you've won, but you haven't. You'll see."

Argus suddenly threw his head back and a fast stream of black smoke flew from the old man's body. Argus was gone, and the old man lay in a crumpled heap on the floor.

John was about to dismiss the old man as dead before he heard a low moan.

"Charlie," a quivering old voice asked. "Have to get to my poor Charlie."

John scooted closer to the old man and placed a hand on his arm. He had hated him for the past month, thinking he had stolen his Sammy. In reality, the old man truly was harmless.

"Such horrible things," the man cried softly. "I did such horrible things to my boy."

John saw a small trickle of blood come from the old man's mouth and knew his time was up.

"It's okay, Simon," he said softly. "Charlie is okay. He knows it wasn't you. He's okay."

Simon smiled, a look of relief washing over his face. "Charlie..."

John felt the man sag slightly under his hands. He was gone.

"You did a good thing, John," Pastor Jim said softly. "Hopefully he'll rest in peace now."

John nodded. He hoped so. He identified with the man. He knew what it was like to feel like he'd lost one of his boys. He wouldn't wish that feeling on anyone. He heard a low moan behind him and turned to see Dean coming to. He moved quickly to his side and placed a hand on Dean's head.

"You okay, Ace?" John asked softly. He felt around the back of Dean's head and his fingers found a golf ball-sized knot. "Ah, that has to hurt."

"Ya think?" Dean shot back at him with a glare.

"John," Jim called from the bed where Sam still appeared to be asleep.

John and Dean rushed to Sam's bedside. John heard Bobby curse under his breath, and he noted that the rough old hunter's eyes were red rimmed. He was fighting tears over Sam's broken body.

"Sammy," Dean called. He received no response. John was afraid to touch his son. It looked like every inch of his body was hurt.

Bobby cleared his throat and gave voice to all their fears.

"Is he okay, John?" he asked quietly. "He slept through quite a raucous."

John looked at Bobby and shook his head. "I don't know."

* * *

Dean had been afraid to touch his brother, but calling to him didn't seem to rouse him. He laid a gentle hand on Sam's arm, and the reaction was electric. Sam screamed and tried to move away from the touch. His screaming sounded strange and halted.

"Sam, shhh, it's okay," Dean soothed. "It's us, Sammy."

Sam's eyes searched frantically around the room. He tried to move away from Dean, but his cuffed hand held him firmly in place. Dean winced in sympathy as he took in the raw and bleeding wrist, though that seemed to be the least disturbing of his injuries. Dean noted the burns all over Sam's arms, chest, and legs.

"What the hell..." Dean reached for one of the burns and Sam scooted away, complete and utter fear written all over his face.

"They're electrical," Caleb answered the unasked question. He picked up a set of wires from the floor and tossed them through the air.

Dean felt his blood grow cold. He was beginning to piece together some of the horrors his brother must have endured over the past month, but he was sure that his imagination only scratched the surface.

Sam was shaking as he searched everyone's faces in the room. He was in a panic, and Dean didn't know how to calm him down.

"Sammy, it's us," he soothed. "We're gonna get you out of here."

He eased a lock pick out of his wallet and set to work on the cuff that enveloped Sam's wrist. Sam watched him warily, trying to keep as much distance from him as possible. Dean hated the feral look on his brother's face. He looked like a frightened animal.

As soon as the cuff came free, Sam looked at his freed wrist in shock. He brought his arm down, but the movement seemed to cause him a great deal of pain. Dean wondered how long he'd been laying on the bed. Had it been for the entire month? The ice in his veins suddenly turned red hot as anger took over.

When Sam was able to maneuver his left arm better, he used it to cradle his right arm. Dean wanted to cry when he saw the look of tortured pain that flashed across his brother's face. Sam made a strange mewing sound as he cradled his broken arm. Dean looked to his father when he heard the sound, but John looked as confused as Dean did.

As soon as Sam was relatively sure he was free, he cowered further away from Dean. The movement broke Dean's heart.

"Sammy, it's okay," Dean soothed. "It's over now."

Dean reached out to touch Sam's arm, but Sam screamed madly and tried to back further away. Unfortunately, he had run out of space on the bed, and he tumbled to the floor. The screams rose in their intensity as Sam landed on his broken arm.

"Sam!" John barked. Dean knew his father was hoping that the firmness of his tone would break through Sam's armor, but it didn't seem to faze Sam in the slightest. Dean and John both rushed to Sam's side, but this seemed to scare the youngest Winchester even more.

Sam screamed more and scooted himself into the wall, trying to back as far away from his family as he could.

"Sam," John barked again, but Sam didn't look at him.

"He's afraid of us," Dean said quietly. "What on God's green earth did that bastard do to him?"

John tried calling to Sam again, but Sam seemed to ignore him completely. He didn't even flinch. Something was wrong. Dean tried moving forward again, but Jim stopped him.

"Hold on a minute, Dean," Jim said. "Look at his ears."

Dean looked at the dried blood that seemed to be caked on the inside of Sammy's ears. It had run down the side of his face but now was crusted over.

Jim moved to the other side of Sam, out of his line of sight. He clapped his hands loudly, almost inches away from Sam's head, but Sam didn't react.

"My God," John whispered in a quivering breath. "Sammy, I'm so sorry."

Dean watched the tears streaming down his brother's petrified face and tried to hold back his own tears.

Sammy was deaf.


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you again for all of the wonderful comments. I am so happy to hear that people like the story!

* * *

Sam cowered in the corner of the room. He held his hands over his ears, even though there was no sound for him to block out. He watched his family as they stared at him. Their mouths were moving, but there was no sound. Dean kept approaching him, touching him. Sam had tried his hardest to back away. He tried to scream, but he had no idea if he was actually making any noise. His hallucinations had never made contact with him before. And then there were the others. Jim, Bobby and Caleb all stared at him. His hallucinations had never involved more than Dean and his father. Sam started to wonder if maybe these weren't hallucinations at all. Maybe they were really real this time.

Sam's head was pounding. The pain was unbearable. He watched warily as Dean approached him again. His mouth was moving. He was trying to say something. Sam watched him carefully as he approached. Dean reached out to touch him again, but this time, Sam let him. _Maybe..._

Dean touched Sam's bare arm, and Sam felt himself relax slowly. The touch felt real. It didn't feel threatening. Sam let himself dare to believe his hallucinations were real this time. He leaned forward slightly, and that was all Dean needed. Dean wrapped his arms around Sam in a hug, and Sam breathed in the smell of Dean's leather jacket. He was real. He wasn't a hallucination. Sam let himself relax completely in Dean's arms, and he felt hot tears on his cheeks. He could feel sobs hitching in his throat and knew he must have been sobbing. He felt the exhaustion overwhelm him and tried to ignore the pounding in his head. He could feel the vibration in Dean's neck as he spoke. Sam couldn't hear the words, but the vibration felt soothing. He let his head fall onto Dean's shoulder and the darkness took him.

* * *

John watched as Dean held Sam in his arms. He looked so small and scared. Sam had sobbed openly when he had finally allowed Dean to hug him. He watched as Sam seemed to give in to the exhaustion that was written on his small face. His head lolled on Dean's shoulder as Dean rocked him back and forth. Despite the knowledge that Sam was deaf, Dean made soothing sounds. John thought the sounds were as much for his own benefit as they were for Sam's.

He ached to hold both his boys, but he knew the moment was for Dean to savor. Dean had been out of his mind with worry over the past month. He needed this moment with his brother. But John knew they also needed to get Sam to a hospital. Reluctantly, he cleared his throat.

"Dean," John said softly. Dean didn't respond, so John placed a hand on the shoulder of his oldest. Dean looked at him, and his cheeks were wet with tears. "We need to get him to a hospital."

Dean nodded weakly. He ran his hand softly over the top of Sam's head and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.

John moved forward and gently pulled Sam away from Dean. He hooked one arm under Sam's arms and the other under his knees and scooped him up. Sam's head lolled backward as John lifted him. His arms and legs dangled lifelessly, and John had to remind himself that his boy was just sleeping. John was alarmed at how light Sam was. He looked over his boy's body and was once again astonished at his skeletal appearance.

He heard Dean sniff and watched as his eldest picked himself up off the floor.

"I'll get the car," Jim offered gently. The Pastor placed a hand on Sam's forehead before moving swiftly out of the room to the vehicles outside.

"What do we do about him," Bobby said, nodding toward the lifeless body of the old homeless man.

"I don't want him to be blamed for this," John said. He remembered the tormented look in the old man's eyes just before he died. "It wasn't his fault."

"Bobby and I will take care of it," Caleb said. "Get Sammy to the hospital."

John nodded his thanks and moved out to the car with Sam. Dean jogged in front of him and jumped into the backseat of the Impala. John handed his small burden off to Dean. Sam's body flopped in the handoff, and John tried to be careful of the broken arm. Dean lay Sam down in the seat next to him and placed his little brother's head in his lap. John quickly moved to the driver's seat, and Jim slid across to the passenger's side.

The drive was made in silence. No one seemed to know what to say. John could see Jim moving out of the corner of his eye and glanced over to his friend. The Pastor was praying quietly.

* * *

Dean sighed as he leaned back in the hard plastic chair of the hospital waiting room. They had been waiting for hours. Caleb and Bobby had joined them about an hour after they arrived. They had taken Simon Granger's body to the river, a good 20 miles away from the cabin. No one would assume the old man had anything to do with what happened to Sammy.

Dean watched the double doors Sam had been taken through hours ago. He willed them to open to no avail. He wished he knew what was happening with his baby brother. He was still haunted by the realization they had all made back in the cabin about Sammy's deafness. Dean had prayed over and over again that it wasn't permanent. He had looked so helpless. His small body had been so beaten.

A small tap on his leg brought him back to the present. He looked at Caleb, and Caleb nodded toward the double doors. Dean looked up to see a doctor standing with his father. He was watching the small waiting room warily as he cleared his throat and began to speak.

"He was in pretty rough shape, but we've managed to get his wounds dressed and his arm patched up," the doctor said slowly. He sighed before continuing. "He had a number of bruises, cuts, and burns. He also had a broken arm and three cracked ribs."

Dean leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees as he listened. This wasn't anything they hadn't already suspected. He was waiting for the doctor to give them news about Sammy's hearing. He didn't have to wait long.

"We were most concerned, of course, over his loss of hearing. We did a CT scan. There doesn't appear to be any brain damage; however, on examination, we found that both of his eardrums have been ruptured," the doctor looked around the room and seemed to hesitate before he continued. "It isn't uncommon for hearing to be restored once the ruptured eardrum has repaired itself, but in Sam's case, the damage doesn't look good."

Dean watched as his father seemed to lose his ability to stand, and Jim quickly guided him to a chair.

The doctor moved forward and placed a hand on John's shoulder.

"I'm so sorry," he said sympathetically. "Sam won't recover his hearing."

Dean felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach. He dropped his head into his hands and began to sob. He felt Caleb's hand on his back, but shook the comfort away. He didn't want to be comforted. He wasn't the one who would never hear again. He suddenly felt like he was suffocating. He needed air. He jumped up from his chair and ran from the waiting room. He ran down the hall and out the double doors to the darkness of night. It was still snowing. He let the cold air dry his tear-soaked cheeks as he watched the snowflakes fall. Off in the distance he could hear a siren and a honking horn. He could hear the whistle of the wind as it blew the snow around him. He could hear the gentle hum of the overhead fluorescent lights that illuminated the hospital's entrance. He was suddenly aware of the hundreds of sounds he took for granted all the time. The sounds that his little brother would never again hear.

"He's alive, Ace," Caleb's voice startled Dean.

He looked at Caleb angrily.

"What," Dean said venomously, "since he's alive he's not allowed to mourn the fact that he'll never hear again?"

Caleb looked at Dean and smiled.

"I don't see Sammy out here mourning anything."

Dean stared at Caleb for a few moments. He tried to think of a response but came up short.

"It's okay to be sad for him," Caleb continued. "But don't forget to celebrate the fact that he can still see. He can still walk. He can still _breathe_, for Pete's sake. He's alive, Dean."

Dean nodded slowly.

"Let it out," Caleb said. "But then let it be done. Your brother's got a tough road ahead of him. Don't let your pity be his burden."

Caleb touched Dean's shoulder gently, then turned and walked back inside. Just before the doors closed, he called over his shoulder to Dean.

"And don't stay out here too long, Nancy," he said mockingly. "You'll get pneumonia."

Dean smiled. Caleb made sense. He was a jackass, but he made a hell of a lot of sense.

* * *

John walked slowly into Sam's room. He caught himself tiptoeing up to the bed, then nearly lost it when he realized it didn't matter how much noise he made. His son wouldn't hear it. The realization hit him in the gut, and he fought the urge to scream. He had to keep it together for his boy. He didn't dare let Sam see his tears.

Sam seemed lost in a sea of wires, monitors, and needles. He had a number of bandages covering his chest and arms where he had been burned. The doctor had said there would be some scarring, but it should be minimal. His bones looked as though they would poke right through his skin. His face was marred with large, black bruises. One of his eyes was almost completely swollen shut. His lip was swollen and split. His right arm was encased in a large plaster cast that seemed way too large on his tiny frame.

John touched Sam's arm lightly, and Sam jumped. His eyes flew open and they searched the room in a panic before they fell on John. Sam seemed to relax slightly as he watched his father. He raised his arm weakly and touched his ear. John nodded sadly.

The nurse had left a dry erase board next to the bed. John picked it up and hesitated. How could he tell his son that he wouldn't hear again? He tried to think of what he would say if he could speak to his son aloud.

_**I'm sorry, Sammy**_, John wrote. He hesitated, then finished writing. _**Your hearing won't come back.**_

It didn't seem possible, but Sam paled further as he read what his father had written. He nodded slowly. John waited for more of a reaction, but he received none. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or worried.

Sam moaned, seeming to try to test his voice. He looked momentarily frustrated before he tried again.

"De... Dean," he said. His voice sounded awkward. It didn't sound like Sam. John tried to imagine what it must be like not being able to hear your own voice.

"He'll be here soon," John said. Sam crinkled his eyebrows in confusion, and John kicked himself. This was going to take a lot of getting used to. John tried not to let his emotion show as he began writing again. He showed the board to Sam, and Sam nodded slightly.

As if on cue, John heard the door open behind him. He turned and saw Dean enter the room slowly. He had an unreadable expression on his face as he watched his brother, but the expression went away quickly and was replaced by a bright smile.

"Sammy!" Dean said happily.

John watched Sam's eyes brighten and he smiled slightly.

Dean rushed forward as if to hug Sam tightly, but John stopped him.

"Easy, Ace," John said. "No rough stuff."

Dean looked slightly disappointed, but settled for mussing his kid brother's hair. He glanced over at John, and John offered Dean the board. Dean accepted it and wrote a short message to Sam.

_**How you feeling, kiddo?**_ Dean wrote. He showed it to Sam, who smiled slightly and shrugged. Sam's face fell a little and tears sprung to his eyes as he touched his ear.

_**I know**_, Dean wrote. _**I'm sorry, Sammy**_.

Sam looked down for a moment, but Dean caught his chin.

_**We'll get through this**_, Dean wrote quickly.

Sam nodded and smiled a half smile.

"You doing okay, Dean?" John asked slowly.

"Yeah," Dean said dryly. "I'm fine. I'm not the one laying in a hospital bed."

John felt a pang of guilt as he saw the look of confusion on Sam's face. He looked from Dean to John. He wanted to know what they were saying. John grabbed the board from Dean and quickly scribbled a quick apology to Sam. They would need a better way to communicate.

* * *

Sam yawned as he woke from a light nap. He was startled to see Dean sitting in the chair, watching him. Dean said something, and Sam immediately felt his frustration rise. He didn't think he'd ever get used to not being able to hear. He was trying to keep a positive attitude, but it was getting more and more difficult as it dawned on him just how many things he had taken for granted when he could hear. He couldn't quite wrap his mind around the fact that he would never hear again. It didn't seem real. It felt like he was waiting to wake up from a very bad dream.

_**You okay?**_ Dean wrote on the board.

Sam was starting to hate that board. He would go crazy if he had to spend the rest of his life reading that stupid board. He nodded in response to Dean. His head was killing him, and he was dying for a Tylenol, but he was hesitant to ask his brother for one. He hated that he couldn't hear his voice. He had no idea what he sounded like. The few times he had tried to speak, he could see from his family's expressions that his voice sounded off. He had heard deaf people speak on TV, and he wondered if he sounded like they did. The pounding in his head seemed to increase in intensity, and he decided he would need to give it a try.

"H-h-head," Sam tried to say. He touched his head to emphasize what he was talking about. "Hurts."

Dean nodded and reached over to touch the call button. The nurse arrived a moment later, and Dean said something to her. Sam assumed he was asking the nurse for something for his head. The nurse disappeared and came back a few minutes later with some pills and some water.

The nurse leaned in close to him and seemed to try to get Sam's attention. She pointed at her lips and mouthed "Ty-len-ol" before dropping the pills into Sam's hand. She handed Sam a small cup of water. Sam took the pills and swallowed the water.

"Thank you," Sam said.

The nurse smiled and touched his arm, then turned to leave.

Sam leaned back into the pillows and looked at Dean. Dean smiled uneasily. Sam felt the awkwardness of his stare. Without the ability to communicate, they were left with simply sitting and staring at each other.

Sam felt his mind start to wander. He thought about what brought him here, and he shivered. He didn't know how long he had been held in the cabin, but he knew it had to have been a very long time. He recalled some of his beatings and his arm began to ache. He remembered the day his captor had broken it, and he shivered again.

Dean touched his arm as he held the board up.

_**You okay?**_ Was written on the board. Sam wasn't sure if Dean had written it again, or if it was still left there from before.

Sam nodded but looked away quickly. He felt Dean touch his arm, and he turned to look back at him. Dean cocked his head and held the board up again.

"H-h-how long?" Sam tried to ask.

Dean looked away uneasily and Sam could have sworn he saw tears spring into his eyes. He wasn't sure if he'd asked his question successfully until Dean quickly scribbled a response and held it up for Sam to read.

_**Little over a month,**_ Dean wrote.

Sam felt himself deflate. _A month?_ He knew it had been a long time, but he had no idea it had been a month. He suddenly wanted to be by himself. He was tired and didn't want to make the effort to try to communicate anymore. He leaned back and closed his eyes. He felt Dean touch his arm, but he batted him away. He turned his head toward the wall, effectively shutting his brother out.

One thing his loss of hearing was good for was an effective way of shutting the world out when he wanted to be alone.

* * *

John watched helplessly as Dean tried for the hundredth time that day to reach his little brother. Sam had been in the hospital for a week now, and every day he seemed to be drifting further away from them. They had been able to piece together some of what had happened to him from the evidence they'd found in the cabin and from the injuries left on Sam's body. It seemed that every time John looked at his youngest, he found a new bruise, cut, or burn.

The doctor had told him that Sam would have some scarring, but it would be minimal. John knew the physical scars would be nothing compared to the emotional scars left by his time being held against his will. John had some experience with that, and he knew it wasn't something you got over quickly. It broke his heart to know that his son would be living with this the rest of his life.

He cleared his throat as he approached the bed. Dean looked up at John and sighed.

"He won't look at me," Dean said with a helpless tone that made John frown. "It's not like I can yell at him, either."

Sam's refusal to communicate not only had them worried, it had the doctors worried as well. His doctor had mentioned a psychiatric hospital once, but John had felt his face turn red with anger before he told the doctor in no uncertain terms that it wasn't an option.

"I don't know what to tell you, Dean," John said quietly. "I'm going to be honest. I'm scared."

John hated the words that left his mouth. He had never admitted fear to anyone, let alone his boys. Dean needed his father to be strong, but John just couldn't bring himself to put on the act of strength any longer. They were losing Sam, and he had no idea how to stop it.

He touched Sam's arm gently, and Sam opened his eyes. He looked at John for the briefest of moments, and John held his breath, hoping. His hopes faded quickly as Sam shuffled in his bed and turned his back to John.

"What are we going to do?" Dean pleaded. "The doctor said that physically he'll be ready to be released soon. It's not like we can take him on the road with us like this."

"We're going to stay with Pastor Jim for awhile," John said. "He knows sign language and agreed to teach us."

Dean raised his head quickly. He clearly hadn't been expecting that, but John could see the briefest flicker of hope spread across Dean's face. He wished he held as much hope as Dean, but he was afraid that Sam wouldn't be as receptive to the idea as they were.

* * *

Pastor Jim Murphy took a deep breath as he approached the door to young Sam Winchester's hospital room. He had been there to support John and Dean as they dealt with the aftermath of Sam's horrible ordeal. They were at a loss as to what to do. Sam was drawing into himself, and they didn't know how to help. No one could blame the poor boy. Sam had been through something horrible. Jim was still reeling at the fact that the boy had been tortured for an entire month. Worse still, Sam's hearing was lost forever, and no one was quite sure how to deal with it. This would be tragic news for any family, but the Winchesters were not a normal family.

Jim knew this family well enough to know that what they needed was something to do. They didn't want to feel helpless. He only hoped he could get through to little Sam. If Sam didn't want to learn what he had to teach him, there would be nothing he could do for the boy.

He took another deep breath as he entered the room. Dean sat in a chair on one side of Sam's bed, sleeping, and John sat on the other side of the bed, looking through a newspaper. John looked up as Jim entered. The man smiled warmly, and Jim felt his stomach tighten. The next few months would be rough, and he knew that John was not a patient man. He wouldn't tell his friend as much, but he was more worried about John's receptiveness to what he had to teach than Sam's. Sam had drawn into himself, but he was a good student. He soaked up new information like a sponge, and Jim felt that as long as he could get the kid's attention, the kid would want to learn.

Jim put his hand on Dean's shoulder and cleared his throat. Dean jumped slightly and opened his eyes. He looked around the room for a moment, confusion written on his face, until his eyes rested on Jim.

"Hey Jim," Dean said with a yawn. "Good to see you."

"Do you think I could have a few moments alone with Sam," Jim asked quietly.

For a brief moment, Dean looked a little bit perturbed. Dean had been Sam's protector from a very young age. He took his responsibility very seriously, and didn't like anyone getting in the way. Jim knew this, and knew he would need to be mindful of Dean's protectiveness of his brother in the months that lay ahead. He wasn't terribly worried though. Jim knew that Dean would always do what was best for Sam.

"Let's go to the cafeteria and get some lunch, Dean," John said quickly. Dean looked to John, then to Sam. He nodded slightly before gently brushing the hair out of his sleeping brother's eyes.

John and Dean left quietly, and Jim took Dean's seat next to Sam. He looked at the sleeping boy and took a moment to feel sad for him. Sam was still terribly skinny. Bruises, cuts, and burns still marred his pale skin. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his sleep seemed to be somewhat restless. Jim wondered what sort of nightmares the poor boy had been having.

He touched Sam gently on the shoulder, and the boy jumped slightly. His eyes flew open and he looked at Jim, surprised. He looked around the room and seemed to immediately notice the absence of his family. His eyes questioned Jim. When Jim made no move, Sam looked at the white board, as if asking Jim to tell him where his family was.

Jim didn't pick up the white board.

**Your Dad and Dean went to the cafeteria**, Jim signed. He mouthed the words as he signed them.

Sam looked at Jim, confused. Anger quickly replaced the confusion, and Sam picked up the white board and handed it to Jim. Jim put the board down and again signed to Sam.

**Your dad and Dean went to the cafeteria**. Again, he mouthed the words slowly as he signed them.

Sam blew an aggravated breath out and shut his eyes, attempting to shut Jim out the way he had shut his dad and his brother out. Jim wasn't going to let him. He slapped Sam gently on the cheek. He felt a small margin of guilt, as Sam's cheek was still bruised and swollen.

Sam's eyes flew open, and he looked pissed. Jim signed the same sentence again. He would get through to Sam, no matter how long it took. John and Dean needed help getting through to the youngest Winchester, and they were placing all their hope in Jim. Jim wasn't going to let them down, and he wasn't going to let Sam down.

* * *

Dean picked absentmindedly at his food. He wasn't a picky eater, but the cafeteria's selection left a lot to be desired. He felt his father watching him from across the table. He knew John was waiting for him to talk. Dean cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter.

"Do you think Jim can help him?" He finally asked. His voice felt scratchy and rasped from disuse.

John sighed and leaned back in his chair. He eyed Dean, seeming to choose his words carefully.

"Jim can do a lot to help Sam, Dean," John said slowly. "It's just a matter of whether or not Sam wants to let Jim help him."

Dean sighed. His father's words did nothing to make him feel better. Maybe John didn't feel optimistic enough to help Dean feel better. That scared Dean. He felt hopeless, and he really wanted his father to be the strong, fearless person he knew him to be.

"I just wish he'd open up a little," Dean said. He felt awkward hearing those words come from his mouth. He'd never been the touchy-feely type, but his brother had been full-on catatonic and it scared the crap out of him.

Dean and John had seen the room Sam had been kept in at the cabin. It was filthy. The sheets were stained with Sam's blood and waste. The markings on his body told a gruesome story of the past month. Dean knew this wasn't something Sam would get over in a day. He felt completely powerless. There was nothing he could do to ease his brother's pain.

Some of Sam's bruises were starting to fade, but he still looked horrible. Dean had been frightened at how thin his little brother looked. John and Dean were still afraid to touch him. He looked so fragile that Dean was sure he would fall apart at any moment. Worse than all of Sam's physical injuries was the utter despair in his eyes. His brother was too young to look like that. Sam looked like he'd aged 30 years in the past month.

Bobby and Caleb had hung around the hospital for a few days, but Dean could see they were becoming restless. They felt useless. Hunters weren't good at feeling useless. They had both left, wishing a silent Sam the best. Sam had barely even acknowledged their presence.

Dean glanced at the clock on the wall and looked at his father. It had been 2 hours since they left Jim alone in Sam's room. He figured by now Jim had either given up, or Sam had killed him.

"Do you think we've given them enough time?" Dean asked casually.

"I suppose so," John said quietly. He stood up from the table and grabbed Dean's tray, depositing it in the tray bin as they left the cafeteria.

The walk upstairs to the pediatric ward was made in silence. Dean held his breath as they approached Sam's room. He wasn't sure what to expect.

He looked over his father's shoulder as he pushed the door open. Jim and Sam looked up as they entered, and Jim smiled slightly. Sam looked from Dean to John, and a ghost of a smile graced his lips. Sam looked at Jim, who nodded to him. When he looked back at Dean and John, he held up a shaky hand and made some awkward hand signals.

"Hi Dad," Jim interpreted. "Hi, Dean."

Dean felt his legs go weak with relief, and he watched his father's shoulders sag as a huge smile spread across his face. Sammy was coming back to them.

* * *

Sam watched the news on the television set that hung in the corner of his room. The closed captioning was turned on, and he was attempting to watch the lips of the newscasters as they spoke. It was a form of practice that Jim had recommended. It was frustrating, but Sam felt like he was making some progress. He had been at it all day.

Dean and his father were back at the motel, packing up their belongings and preparing to leave. Sam was going to be discharged today, and he couldn't wait. He was so sick of the hospital he could puke. Jim had left early in the morning. He said he needed to go home and make some preparations for their arrival.

His father had told him they planned to stay with Pastor Jim for the next few months. Jim had been working with him on his sign language and lip reading. At first he had been angry with Jim for making the attempt. It was as if learning sign language would seal his fate. He would have to accept that his hearing was gone forever. Jim had been insistent, and Sam had to finally admit to himself that he needed to learn. It didn't take long before he _wanted_ to learn. He felt as though he couldn't learn fast enough. He wished there was a way for him to download Jim's brain into his own so that he would know everything the Pastor knew.

Sam sighed and turned the television off. He was starting to get a headache from staring at it all day. He leaned back in his bed and bit his lip. He watched out the window. He could see that it was a windy day. He saw a bird trying to fly against the wind. It lost its stamina and was knocked into the window by the wind's force. Sam flinched. There was no bang as the bird hit the window. He tried to imagine what it sounded like.

His father had told him they would stay at Jim's as long as Sam needed. Sam had been happy to see his father write those words on the white board, but he had felt a tightness in his stomach. His father never stayed in one place for long. What if his dad wanted to leave before he was ready? Would he ever be ready? It wasn't as though he would be very good at watching his family's back on hunts.

He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to see Dean standing at the foot of the bed, smiling like a goon. He grabbed the white board and scribbled madly for a moment. He held it up for Sam to see.

_**You ready to get the HELL out of here???**_

Sam couldn't hide his excitement. He smiled and nodded emphatically.

Dean picked a duffel bag up from the floor and fished through it for a moment. He took out a pair of pants and a t-shirt and tossed them at Sam. Sam picked them up and swung his legs off the bed. He had been unhooked from all of the medical equipment early that morning. He was ready to go. He dressed as quickly as he could, but it was awkward with his broken arm. Dean offered his help a few times, but Sam shooshed him away. He wanted to do it on his own. He felt as though everyone wanted to do everything for him, but he was determined to do things for himself. He didn't want to feel as helpless as everyone seemed to think he was.

When Sam was finished dressing, he frowned at the realization that his pants were way too big. They started to sag as he walked across the room, and he found he had to hold them up. He knew he'd lost some weight, but this was ridiculous. He looked up to his brother, expecting him to be laughing, but Dean looked near tears.

Dean looked away quickly, and Sam knew he was trying to hide his tears. He wanted so badly to comfort his brother, but he didn't trust his voice. He hated speaking and not knowing how he sounded, so he tried to keep his speaking to short sentences. Instead, he moved to Dean's side and put his good hand on Dean's arm. Dean looked at him and smiled.

"Let's go," Sam said.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean sighed in frustration as he tried for the third time to form his hand in a way that matched the book laid out in front of him. He was sitting on his bed in the room he shared with Sam. It had been three months since they had left the hospital and moved in with Pastor Jim. The road so far had been rough and long, but it seemed like things were starting to look up.

Sam had been resistant to Jim's efforts to teach him sign language at first, but in true Sam fashion, his interest was piqued by the opportunity to learn something new, and it wasn't long before Jim had Sam's full attention. Jim had worked with Sam constantly in the hospital, and by the time Sam was discharged, he had learned the full alphabet and signs for several other commonly used phrases. He had also made a great deal of progress in his attempts to learn to read lips. Everyone had been surprised by how quickly he was picking it up.

They had all settled into Pastor Jim's place after Sam's discharge from the hospital, and the daily routine of spending all day, every day, learning a new language was quickly established. Jim had a large, remote property. His house sat next to his church, so the three of them had plenty of space to roam. Sam spent a lot of time glued to the Pastor's side. Every time he came across something he didn't know a sign for, he would grab Jim's arm and insist on knowing the new word.

It had felt good to see Sam so enthusiastic about learning. Dean had been out of his mind with worry in the hospital after they had found Sam. He had drawn into himself and no amount of coaxing by Dean or his father seemed to draw Sam out of his cocoon. Dean had wanted to hug Jim when he'd finally broken through to Sam.

Jim had the patience of a saint. In addition to teaching Sam, he was teaching John and Dean. They were slowly but surely making progress. Dean's motivation was spurred by a desire to communicate with his brother in a way that was more efficient than paper and pencil. Sam seemed to be getting very good at reading lips, but he seemed hesitant to speak himself. Dean knew that Sam felt very self conscious about speaking out loud, not knowing how he sounded when he spoke. The result had been a lot of one-sided conversations. Sam would read Dean's lips, but his only contribution to the conversation would be a shrug, a nod, or a shake of the head. It was frustrating Dean to no end. He missed the banter he used to share with his brother. He missed his brother's incessant chatter.

A knock at the door brought Dean out of his thoughts. His father poked his head in and smiled. Dean groaned inwardly. He knew what was coming. They had never spent more than a few months at a time in any one place, and Dean knew John must be getting restless. Dean had feared the day his father would be ready to move on. Sam wasn't ready. And they still hadn't discussed how they would deal with Sam's inability to hear when they were on a hunt. It was dangerous, and Dean's first thought was to leave Sam out of hunting. But how could Sam stay out of hunting completely and stay in their lives? Their father ate, slept, and breathed hunting. If Sam couldn't be a part of that, he would forever be isolated from his small family.

John sat next to Dean on his bed and glanced at the sign language book Dean was studying.

"How's it coming?" John asked casually.

"It's coming," Dean answered flatly. He stared at his father, waiting.

"Caleb called," John said, clearing his throat. "He's gotten word on a haunting a few hours north of here."

John watched Dean carefully. Dean knew he was trying to gauge his reaction.

"Sammy isn't ready for a hunt," Dean said. "And he isn't ready to leave Pastor Jim. He needs more time."

"Yeah," John said quietly.

"You want to leave him here, don't you?" Dean asked, incredulously.

"Not….forever," John said hesitantly. "Just long enough to check this out. And maybe another couple hunts if they come up."

Dean threw his arms up in the air, exasperated.

"Come on, Dean!" John said angrily. "How long are we supposed to sit here? The hunts are too dangerous for him, and I don't want to leave him alone in a hotel room in his condition…"

"In his _condition_?" Dean spat. "His _condition_ is permanent, Dad!"

"I know that, Dean," John said, his face getting red from anger. "And don't you dare take that tone with me!"

Dean stayed quiet, quickly averting his eyes from his father. He was treading on thin ice.

John sighed as Dean picked at a piece of loose thread from the blanket he was sitting on.

"I'm not sure how to move forward, Dean," John admitted quietly. "I can't very well pick up where I left off teaching him the family business. But our heads are never going to be in the game if we're always worried about him being left alone."

Dean cursed inwardly as he felt the sting of tears in his eyes. His father wasn't telling him anything he hadn't already thought about a thousand times before.

"For now," John continued in a quiet voice, "about all I can do is take things as they come. I'm going on this hunt, and I could really use your help."

Dean sighed. It would be good to get away for awhile. He had to admit that he was starting to go crazy staying in once place. A lifetime of constantly being moved around would do that to a person. He knew Sam wouldn't feel that way. Sam had always wanted more stability. He'd always wanted to stay put.

Dean suddenly felt himself being torn between staying behind in his little brother's new world and moving forward with the life he'd always known. His mind made up, Dean stood up and moved toward the door.

"I need to talk to Sam."

* * *

Sam watched Jim's lips move as he slowly read aloud from _To Kill a Mockingbird_. Sam held a copy of the same book in his hands. He would read a page, then watch Jim read the same page out loud. This had been a training trick they'd practiced daily since he was in the hospital. It seemed to be working. Sam was delighted at how much more he could understand from reading lips now than he could three months ago. He was getting good at it, and it was exciting. He felt like he was regaining a miniscule piece of what had been taken away from him.

He had felt so alone for the first few days after he'd woken up in the hospital and learned he would never regain his hearing. He felt himself quickly becoming bitter and angry, and all he wanted was to shut the entire world out. But Jim hadn't let him shut him out. And Sam would be forever grateful.

"Hey, pay attention," Jim said. Sam straightened in his seat. Jim must have noticed that his mind had started to wander. He watched Jim's lips intently as he again began reading from the book.

A prickling feeling crept up Sam's back, and he instinctually turned around. Dean stood in the doorway, looking somewhat surprised to see that Sam seemed to know he was there. Sam hadn't told Dean about the sensations he'd been feeling. He hadn't told anyone.

It had begun a few days after they'd left the hospital. Sam had found that he'd get a strange sensation when someone was near. It was like he could feel the presence of others in the room. It had scared the hell out of him at first, but he quickly learned that it almost made up for the fact that he couldn't hear people approaching him.

He'd become a little bit more freaked out when he discovered that the sensation seemed to be different with different people. After a few days, he could clearly discern the difference between the presence of Jim, his father, and Dean.

Over the past few weeks, the sensations seemed to be getting stronger. He not only felt the presence of others in the room, but he found he could pick up on their mood as well.

Right now, Sam could sense that Dean was distressed. He had bad news. As Sam stared at Dean, Dean looked suddenly uncomfortable. Sam could almost swear that he saw recognition pass over Dean's face. Did he know that Sam could read him? Dean quickly looked away, suddenly seeming to find the wall fascinating. He saw Dean's lips move, but because his head was turned, he couldn't read what he was saying.

Sam felt a hand on his arm and jumped. He had been so focused on Dean, he had completely forgotten about Jim.

"We'll pick up on this later, Sam," Jim said. He smiled warmly and stood. He looked to Dean and nodded before moving out of the room. Sam realized that Dean must have asked to have a moment alone with him.

His insides were starting to grow cold. He had feared this moment for the past three months. His family was going to leave him.

* * *

Dean cautiously moved forward. He had been shocked at the way Sam had turned to look at him when he entered the room. It was as if he'd heard him coming. Dean had let himself hope for a fraction of a second that it had all been a nightmare and his baby brother wasn't deaf. He quickly washed that thought away. Sam had stared at him intently, and he knew he had to get this over with as quickly as possible.

He sat down in the chair Jim had been sitting in a moment ago and stared at his brother. Making a conscious effort to speak slowly, he signed along with what he was saying as much as he could. It was something Jim had encouraged them to do.

"Sam, I have to talk to you," Dean said quietly. Sam only stared at him, so he continued. "Dad got a lead on a haunting a few hours away. He wants to go check it out, and he wants me along."

Dean watched Sam carefully, and his stomach tightened at the tears that sprung to his brother's eyes. He felt an immediate need to calm his brother, and his words came out in a rush.

"It'll only be for a little while, and we'll be back I promise," Dean blurted. Sam looked confused and shook his head.

Dean kicked himself mentally. In his rush to comfort him, he'd spoken to quickly. He repeated himself slowly, and Sam nodded slightly. He looked at the floor and Dean felt hopeless. He grabbed Sam's chin and forced his head up to look at Dean.

"I won't go if you don't want me to go, Sammy," Dean pleaded. "I'll stay as long as you need me here."

"No," Sam said aloud. Dean was shocked to hear Sam's voice. His kid brother spoke so rarely that to hear his voice felt odd.

Sam signed slowly. Dean watched carefully.

**You should go**, Sam signed. **Jim will babysit me**.

Sam smiled slightly at his attempt at humor, but Dean didn't take the bait.

"You don't need a babysitter, Sammy," he said. "That's not why we're leaving you here. You still have a lot to learn from Jim."

Sam nodded and began to sign again, but Dean couldn't understand the signs. He shook his head, frustrated. Sam whipped a pad and pen from his pocket. He'd carried one with him everywhere as a communication backup. Dean was determined to learn enough sign language so that Sam wouldn't have to keep using it.

Sam scribbled furiously before he handed the pad to Dean.

**_No need for you to stay. You and Dad shouldn't have to stay here while Jim teaches me. I understand. Go._**

Dean read the words a few times. It was an astoundingly mature attitude for a 12 year old. Dean didn't buy it for a second.

"We'll come back, Sammy," Dean said. "I promise."

Sam nodded sadly, and Dean had to fight from screaming at his kid brother. How could he read him so well? Sam knew Dean was afraid. He knew Dean was uncertain how long they would be away and what the future held for their family. He could see it in Sam's eyes. How did his kid brother read him so well?

Sam suddenly stood and threw himself at Dean. Dean quickly wrapped his arms around Sam in an embrace he knew to be too tight. He was probably squashing the poor kid, but he couldn't seem to loosen his grip. He heard a soft sob from Sam and squeezed impossibly tighter. He silently prayed for a way to make things work.

* * *

John checked his gear one last time before he started to haul it out to the Impala. His stomach was tight, and he felt like the worst father in the world. He had told himself over and over again that Sam needed time with Pastor Jim, and there was nothing John could do for his son there. He was better off out hunting evil.

As he packed the last of the gear into the trunk and slammed the lid shut, he caught sight of his youngest boy lingering in the doorway to Jim's house. Sam was watching him carefully, his hands in his pockets. His face looked pale and sad as he squinted into the afternoon sun.

He approached Sam slowly. He started to say something but stopped himself. He had repeatedly promised his son that they would return from their trip quickly, but Sam seemed to see right through his father. John hadn't been lying, but he hadn't been telling the whole truth. He didn't know if this hunt would lead to another. If it did, he would probably take it on. There was no use in him hurrying home only to watch helplessly as his son learned to read lips and sign.

Dean walked out of the house, followed closely by Jim. Dean was watching Sam, and John could tell he was close to tears. He gave Sam a hug and ruffled his kid brother's hair.

"Stay out of trouble, Sammy," Dean teased. "We'll be back before you know it."

Sam smiled sadly and nodded.

Dean said a quick goodbye to Jim before he hurried off to the Impala. John shook Jim's hand.

"We'll call when we get to Granite Creek," John said quietly. "Thank you for watching him. Let me know if you need anything."

"We'll be fine, John," Jim said with a small smile. "Just be careful."

John turned to Sam and stared his youngest in the face.

"You behave," John said with a quivering breath. "You do what Jim tells you to do."

Sam nodded silently as he stared at John. John scooped his boy up into a tight embrace. Feeling the sting of emotion touching his eyes, he said a quick goodbye and walked away.

* * *

Sam watched sadly as his family drove away. His worst fear was coming true. He could feel Jim's presence next to him. He could feel Jim's pity and sadness, and it only increased his despair.

He turned and looked at the Pastor. Jim smiled at him and put his hand on Sam's shoulder.

"We can skip the lessons for tonight, Sam," Jim said.

Sam shook his head.

**I want to keep going**, Sam signed.

Jim nodded and moved back into the house. Sam cast one last look toward the road where his father and his brother had disappeared. He suddenly felt a strange sensation prickling up his spine. It was the sensation that someone was present, but the sensation was a little bit more disturbing. Sam furrowed his brow and his eyes scanned Jim's property. He didn't see anyone. His unease grew, and he suddenly wanted to get into the safety of the house as quickly as possible.

Across the yard, in the shelter of the trees, a pair of black eyes watched.


	6. Chapter 6

Sorry this chapter is a little short. There is mention of text messaging and laptops in this chapter. I know when Sam was 12 and Dean was 16, text messaging and laptops wouldn't really have been around yet, but we'll just pretend they were. :)

Thanks again to everyone for the great reviews!

* * *

"Dean, down!" Dean heard his father's command and quickly hit the ground. A shot rang out and Dean watched as the spirit disappeared.

He grabbed the shovel and jumped into the shallow grave. He continued to dig until he felt the shovel hit the hard wood of the coffin. He worked at uncovering the body of Calvin Bernard, the angry spirit who had haunted the old farmhouse nearby. He pulled himself out of the grave and retrieved the salt and lighter fluid as his father stood by and kept an eye out for the reappearance of the spirit. Dean poured the salt over the old bones, doused it with lighter fluid, and lit a match. He was about the throw the match into the grave when he felt an invisible force push him backward. He flew through the air and landed on the ground with a sickening thump. His head hit the ground hard, and he fought the pull of unconsciousness.

"Dean!" he heard his father scream his name, but it sounded like he was under water.

He watched his father retrieve a lighter from his pocket. He lit the lighter and threw it into the grave. He heard the whoosh of the fire erupting and knew it was finally over.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean said as John jogged toward him.

"Dean, are you alright?" John crouched down next to Dean and began inspecting his head.

Dean could feel the wetness on his temple and knew he was bleeding. His head was swimming, and he knew he would have a killer headache to contend with.

"I'm fine," Dean said.

"Let's get you back to the motel so we can get you stitched up," John said as he pulled Dean up off the ground.

Dean groaned. This was their fourth hunt since they left Pastor Jim's almost two months ago. He was exhausted. After wrapping up their first hunt in North Dakota, his father had gotten wind of a few others. At first Dean had protested, but Sam had reassured him via text messaging that he was doing fine. He had reluctantly gone with his father.

This last hunt was in Wyoming. John had promised Dean that once they wrapped it up they would head back to Minnesota to see Sam and Pastor Jim. They planned to stop to see Bobby along the way.

He couldn't wait to see Sam. He missed his kid brother so much it almost hurt. They had kept in contact by text, but Dean felt a sense of panic at being away from his little brother for so long. He wanted to see for himself that Sam was okay rather than hearing it from Jim.

Dean had been keeping up with learning sign language. He had been practicing every spare moment he had. Before he and John had left, Pastor Jim had introduced him to an online tutorial with video footage of an instructor teaching sign language. He watched the tutorials on the laptop whenever he could.

At first he thought his father had given up on learning, but he found him looking over his shoulder one evening while Dean watched one of the tutorials. Dean started to occasionally sign when he spoke to John, and John followed suit. They had been practicing with each other ever since. They still had a long way to go until they mastered the language, but Dean felt like he would at least be able to hold a conversation with his little brother.

He felt his father watching him from the driver's seat as they approached their roach-infested motel. He wanted to tell his dad he was fine. They had been somewhat quiet with one another. Dean knew John had some guilt eating at him for leaving Sam behind. He was just glad they were finally going to be headed back.

"How's the head?" John asked as he parked the Impala in front of their room.

"I'll live," Dean said quietly. He wasn't looking forward to what was to come next. His father was an expert at stitching, but it still hurt like a bitch.

They settled into the room and John set to work on stitching Dean's head. Dean felt an unfamiliar need to fill the silence.

"Have you talked to Jim lately?"

John glanced at him for a moment before he resumed the stitching.

"I talked to him this morning," John said. "Sammy's doing good. Jim said he's running out of things to teach him."

Dean laughed and John glared at him.

"Hold still, Dean," John said impatiently.

"Sorry," Dean said.

Dean imagined Sam pestering Jim for more to learn and Jim trying to keep the kid busy. The image made him feel better than he'd felt in a long time. It was good to know that Sam was still Sam. He had worried that what happened would change his brother forever, but Sam was a resilient little kid.

"I think we're done here," John said as he started to pack up the first aid kit. He grabbed an ice pack and punched it to activate the contents. "Put some ice on it."

"When do you think we'll be getting to Bobby's?" Dean asked as he grabbed the offered pack.

"We should be there around noon tomorrow if we get an early start," John said. He looked at Dean and seemed to know what Dean's next question would be. "We'll stay the night and head out for Minnesota first thing day after tomorrow. We should be back to Jim's by late night if we keep the stops to a minimum."

Dean tried to hide his excitement. He was so ready to see Sam. He watched his father carefully and could have sworn he could see a ghost of a smile on his lips. His dad was excited too.

* * *

Sam sighed as he closed the book he was reading. He glanced at Jim. The Pastor was sitting at his desk going over his next sermon. He glanced at Sam and looked at the book.

"Done already?" Jim asked suspiciously.

Sam read his lips easily. He had gotten good at the lip reading. He had also gotten good at the signing. Shortly after his father and Dean left, Jim had started pressing him to practice speaking aloud. Sam had been very resistant at first. He hated not knowing how he sounded. When he spoke too loud, Jim would indicate he needed to lower his voice. When he spoke to low, Jim would tell him he needed to raise his voice. When he wasn't clear, Jim would tell him.

In the end, he had been happy that Jim had insisted he practice. He knew that it wasn't likely that he would be able to communicate as efficiently with his brother and his father as he did with Jim. He would need to speak aloud sometimes in order for them to understand him. He had given up wondering how he sounded long ago. He knew that if he kept dwelling on it, it would drive him insane.

Jim had also started making Sam practice his Latin. This was one lesson Sam didn't understand. It wasn't as if he would be able to hear it spoken to him or be able to speak it.

**What's the point?** Sam signed.

"The _point_, Sam, is that this is important stuff and you need to learn it," Jim said. He sighed and seemed to hesitate before he continued. "Wouldn't it have been nice to know some of this stuff while you were being held by Argus?"

Sam flinched. They rarely spoke about his time being held captive by the demon. He had to admit that some of these exorcism rituals would have been nice to have known.

**But I can't speak clearly enough to recite an exorcism**, Sam signed.

"Not if you don't practice," Jim admonished. "But you're getting good, Sammy. You can speak more clearly than you think. I don't doubt you could do it."

Sam sighed. He opened the book again and began reading. He started to recite one of the rituals aloud, and Jim coached him through it. He tried to keep his concentration on the ritual, but his mind kept wandering back to Argus. He was almost certain that the presence he felt outside Jim's home was the demon who had kept him captive for so long. Several times over the past month he felt like he was being watched as he wandered outside.

He didn't want to tell Jim about the feeling. Telling him about the feeling he was being watched would lead him to telling Jim about the other "feelings" he had. He wasn't sure he wanted Jim to know that he had been reading him. He didn't know what to make of the fact that he could feel the presence of others in the room.

He found it wasn't constant. He had attended Jim's services and he hadn't felt anything strange from the people around him. It seemed to be isolated cases. Sam felt like it was almost a protective mechanism of his mind. It told him when others were approaching. He wondered if this was something that all deaf people felt, but he dismissed that thought immediately. This was something different. Unique. He wasn't sure if he liked it. It was almost supernatural. His family hunted the supernatural. He knew Jim or Bobby or Caleb would never hunt him, but what about other hunters who didn't know him? Would they hunt him down and kill him? It was definitely best to keep his new-found abilities to himself.

* * *

Argus watched the Pastor's house carefully. He couldn't get too close. It was hallowed ground. He had been watching little Sam Winchester since the day John Winchester abandoned his boy. He knew the yellow-eyed demon wanted him to leave the boy alone, but he was determined to finish what he'd started. Yellow eyes had said the boy was special and he wasn't to be touched. He wouldn't kill the boy. He knew that yellow eyes would kill him for that. But he could toy with him. He could toy with John.

He had been interested to see the boy watching the trees when he wandered outside. Argus could sense that the kid knew he was there. Yellow eyes had been right. The boy was special.

He was waiting for his chance. It would come soon enough.

* * *

"Sam," Jim touched Sam's shoulder and spoke to the youngest Winchester. "I'm going into town for some supplies. You coming?"

Sam seemed to hesitate, and Jim frowned.

"You can't hide here forever, kiddo," Jim said. "Eventually you need to face the world."

Sam hadn't left Jim's property since he came home from the hospital, and Jim knew it was time to start acclimating the kid to the world around him. He would need to learn to get along in the real world. Jim had kept Sam out of school at John's insistence. It was clear the kid needed time to recover. No one was worried about Sam suffering from a lack of education. Sam was way ahead of his peers in school. Jim knew that John intended to enroll him in the fall.

In the mean time, Jim was worried about how Sam would get along with others. He had taught him as much as he could about how to communicate. Now it was up to Sam to apply what he'd learned in the outside world.

"Come on," Jim said with a smile. "I'll buy you some lunch."

That seemed to get Sam's attention. Jim could cook, but there were only a few things he knew how to make. He knew Sam had to be getting sick of chili. He had been proud of the fact that he'd managed to help Sam put a substantial amount of weight back on his little body. The kid was still skinnier than Jim liked to see, but Sam had always been a skinny kid.

Sam followed Jim out to the sedan parked in the driveway. They buckled in and Jim pulled out onto the road. He hadn't driven more than half a mile when he saw a large pickup truck come barreling up behind him. The truck drove up to the rear of Jim's car, close enough so that all Jim could see out the rear window was the truck's headlights.

"What on earth?" Jim watched the truck in his rear view mirror closely. The truck suddenly swerved out next to him. Jim slowed the car so that the truck would pass him, but the truck instead swerved toward him, forcing him off the road. He fought to keep control of the car as it careened down an embankment. He saw an approaching tree and cranked the wheel to the right. He wasn't able to turn quickly enough and the car slammed into the tree. He felt himself get thrown forward, and the world went dark for a moment.

When Jim opened his eyes, it took him a few moments to collect himself and assess the situation. He felt an unbelievable pain in his leg and knew it must be broken. His head hurt, and when he touched his fingers to his forehead, they came away covered in blood.

He looked over to Sam, panicked. The kid was slumped in the passenger seat, unconscious. Blood poured from Sam's head, and John saw a crack on the dashboard where the kid must have hit it. He reached across to touch him, but Sam didn't stir. Worried, Jim tried to reach Sam's neck to feel for a pulse. He couldn't quite reach, so he struggled to inch closer. Still unable to reach, Jim impatiently fumbled with his seat belt, trying to unlock it. It was stuck.

He was startled as the passenger side door suddenly swung open. Jim figured it must have been the driver of the truck. He tried to push aside the desire to scream at the man for his erratic driving.

"Please, we need help," Jim said softly. "My phone... it's in the glove compartment. Please call 911."

The man leaned into the car and smiled. Jim's heart sank and his stomach turned to ice as he looked into the man's black eyes.

"No," he said in a panic.

"Give John my regards," the demon said as he grabbed hold of Sam's arm and yanked the boy from the car.

"No, please!" Jim pleaded. He heard a cackle of a laugh as the demon drug Sam off to the truck. His stomach tightened as the demon threw Sam into the truck before climbing in with him. In a matter of seconds, the truck was gone, leaving only a cloud of dust behind it.


	7. Chapter 7

Sorry... this chapter is sort of short! Hopefully I'll have the next one up soon!

* * *

John took a long swig of his beer as he leaned back in his chair and glanced across Bobby's old salvage yard from his seat on the porch. It had been a long few months, and it felt good to finally relax. Dean and Bobby sat next to him, swapping stories he'd heard from each of them a thousand times before. He and Dean had arrived at Bobby's a few hours earlier, and they'd prepared to settle in for an easy night. Overhead, he could hear a flock of geese as they passed by. It was a rare occasion that he got to sit back and be at peace.

His thoughts strayed to Sam, and an unsettling feeling disturbed his peace. He still felt guilty for leaving his youngest behind. He would be lying if he said he hadn't intended to be gone for so long. In truth, he knew that he and Dean would likely be on the road for awhile. The evil in the world didn't stop for a family crisis. And he had to admit that there was a part of him that dreaded going back to Jim's. It's a horrible feeling to watch your child suffer and not be able to do a damn thing to stop it. He just couldn't stand to sit by and watch helplessly as his son learned to cope with losing his hearing.

It wasn't that Sam wasn't coping well. Sam was taking it a lot better than John was. The kid was resilient, that was for sure. He'd been amazed at how quickly Sammy had bounced back from his ordeal. He'd taken every chance he could get to learn something new from Jim. John was proud of Sam, but he couldn't get past the fact that his son was deaf. How would he deal with this? How could Sam hunt if he couldn't hear? John had a lot of decisions to make, and they weren't going to be easy.

One thing he knew for sure was that he couldn't let his family stay separated. Dean had been a wreck without Sam. He'd stumbled through the last two months in a daze. John knew his thoughts were always on his kid brother. John was missing Sam too. Not a day went by that he didn't wonder if he was doing the right thing leaving his son behind. Sam had needed more time with Jim, and John had felt an overwhelming need to get back on the road.

"Dad," Dean's voice broke through his thoughts. "What was the name of that toothless waitress that asked you out right in front of me and Sammy?" Without waiting for John's answer, Dean proceeded to tell Bobby the story.

John listened to Dean tell the story and laughed to himself at the memory. After the waitress had openly flirted with John, she'd asked what he was doing after dinner. He'd cleared his throat and told her he planned to put his children to bed. She'd raised her eyebrows and asked what he was doing after that. Sam had only been 8 and had been oblivious to what was going on. Dean had chuckled all the way through the conversation.

"Come on, John," Bobby teased. "Beggars can't be choosers."

John was still trying to think of a comeback to his friend's jab at his ego when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He glared at Dean and Bobby as the duo laughed at him. He fished his phone out of his pocket and looked at the caller ID. He didn't recognize the number.

"This is John," he answered, expecting a lead on a new hunt and already doing battle with himself on what he would do about Sam if it was something he couldn't pass up.

"John," Jim's voice was somewhat breathless, and John was immediately on full alert. He set his beer down and stood up, putting distance between himself and the pair still chuckling on the porch. "Jim? Where are you?"

"I'm in the hospital, John," Jim said sadly. John felt his stomach tighten as his panic level rose. _Where was Sammy?_

"Are you alright?" John asked urgently. "What happened?"

"A car accident," Jim said, dread tingeing his voice. "I was forced off the road."

A silence followed. John's throat was too tight for him to speak, so he waited.

"I'm so sorry John," Jim said sadly. "It was Argus. He has Sam."

* * *

"Son of a bitch!"

Dean abruptly stopped laughing as he heard his father curse. He glanced over to see John kicking at the dirt a few yards away from the porch. Dean hadn't even realized his father had gotten up.

"Dad?" Dean asked, confused.

He watched his father drop his cell phone to the ground, his hands seeming to have lost their ability to hold the object. _Who had he been speaking to?_

John kicked at the dirt again. Apparently dissatisfied with that, he began kicking at the closest pile of wreckage that had once been a car. He kicked repeatedly before he started pounding his fist on the hood. When his fist went through the driver's side window, Bobby jumped up from his chair and sprinted to John's side. He grabbed his friend around the chest, restraining him. Dean watched as his father's face reddened to an almost purple hue and the veins and tendons in his neck pulsed out.

"Easy, Johnny," Bobby said. "Breaking your hand on an inanimate object ain't gonna do you a lick of good."

Dean sat, frozen. His fear making his stomach clench in knots.

John finally seemed to calm down, and Bobby let him go. He breathed heavily for a few minutes, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. He cleared his throat, and Dean watched his father's famously stoic expression replace the agony that had been there a moment before.

"Get your crap together, Dean," John said gruffly. "We're heading out."

Dean felt frozen. He couldn't move. Something was wrong, and he knew it had to do with Sam. His panic was rising and it tightened every muscle in his body. He stared at his father, willing his body to obey the command he'd been given.

"I said move, Dean!" John screamed, advancing toward his eldest.

"Hey!" Bobby yelled, grabbing John by the arm. "What the hell is going on, John?"

John jerked free of Bobby and looked at Dean for a long moment before looking down to the ground. Dean could have sworn he looked ashamed.

"Argus is back," he said quietly. "He has Sam."

Dean felt bile rise to the back of his throat, and he swallowed it down. He fought to keep himself from crumbling to the floor and crying like a baby. He couldn't move. He couldn't speak. This was his worst nightmare being played out for the second time in full-freaking-living color.

"How?" Bobby whispered.

"Jim was driving him into town," John said shakily. "Argus forced them off the road and dragged Sam from the car."

"Is Jim okay?" Bobby asked, genuine concern written all over his face.

"He broke his leg," John said. "He's in the hospital."

"We should never have left," Dean said as he finally found his voice. He couldn't fight the accusation it held toward John.

His father visibly flinched, but his stoic facade moved immediately back into place. Dean felt simultaneously guilty and victorious for the chink he knew he'd made in his father's armor. He couldn't stop himself from pushing further.

"Sam would be safe right now if we'd stayed with him," Dean said, standing up. He moved to the edge of the porch, standing over his father, forcing John to look up at him.

"You have something to say to me, son?" John asked with narrowed eyes.

Something snapped in Dean, and he lunged at his father, pushing him as hard as he could.

"You did this!" Dean screamed. He couldn't keep the tears from streaming down his cheeks as he shoved John again. "He's only 12! We abandoned him! Sam could be dead, and it's YOUR FAULT!"

John kept himself from toppling backward, but he didn't stop Dean's assault. He stood and took Dean's verbal beating with a face chiseled in stone.

Bobby forced his body between the two men, physically separating them.

"This isn't going to help Sam!" Bobby yelled.

Dean sat down on the porch steps and buried his face in his hands. He immediately felt guilty for accusing his father of being at fault. It was his fault. He was the one who forgot about the old man in the alley. He'd been the one who wasn't there to protect his younger brother. Protecting Sammy was his job and he hadn't done it. He'd failed.

"If we head out now, we can make it by morning," John said quietly.

No one said a word as the gear was packed up and they prepared to start yet another arduous search for the youngest Winchester.

* * *

Sam felt himself slowly coming to awareness, but his awareness was a void. He had gotten used to waking up to silence. It was still a shock to him every time, but he was used to the routine of getting over the shock and remembering that his hearing was gone. Now, however, not only his hearing was gone, but his vision seemed to be gone as well. There was total darkness. He couldn't see a thing. He briefly wondered if he was awake at all.

He tried to remember what had happened. He'd been riding with Jim. There was a truck. An accident? Was he dead? There was no white light. Just darkness. Maybe death was darkness. He hoped death wasn't an eternal black void. He would go nuts. He felt fear start to rise in his stomach. What about Jim?

A sudden jolt of pain in his ribs caused a shriek of pain to rip through his throat. He'd been kicked. He knew that feeling. He'd felt it before.

As blinding, bright light suddenly assaulted his vision, pain seared through his head. He covered his face with his hands and tried to back away from the source of the light. His back hit something solid, and he cowered into the wall, trying to make himself one with it.

As his eyes slowly started to adjust to the light, he moved his hands cautiously away from his face. A figure was standing over him. The presence was menacing. He could feel its energy. It was evil. _Argus_.

The body the demon possessed was new. It was a middle-aged man with a rough, weather-worn face and a gray beard. The eyes were just as black as Sam remembered. He stared down at Sam and a coy smile spread across his face. Sam read the man's lips as he spoke.

"I missed you, Sammy," he said. "You left without saying goodbye."

Sam felt panic make his insides quiver as he tried to move impossibly closer to the wall. He couldn't go through this again. He couldn't.

"I don't think Daddy's coming for you this time, champ," the demon teased. "We've got all the time in the world, and I have so much fun stuff planned for us."

Argus smiled again as he lunged forward, and Sam felt a scream rip through his throat.

* * *

John cursed the road that lay ahead. It seemed to stretch out endlessly before him. Somewhere at the end of it, his boy was going through hell, and he couldn't get there fast enough.

He glanced over at Dean. The kid looked guilty as hell. John wasn't sure if the guilt was over his tirade from earlier or if Dean was berating himself with his own guilt trip over their lost family member. John knew his son well enough to know that he was likely blaming himself for Sammy's abduction. Dean took on too much responsibility when it came to Sam. It was responsibility that John should never have placed on his shoulders all those years ago when he'd handed baby Sam off to Dean as the house was falling down in flames around them.

He didn't blame Dean for lashing out at him. John knew he'd deserved it. Dean had apologized hours ago, but John had only nodded. He couldn't bring himself to forgive his son when he knew there was nothing to forgive. He'd deserved what he'd gotten. Sam was in the hands of the ruthless demon again, and it was his fault. He'd left Sam alone. He'd split their family up. He should never have let Sam out of his sight.

He glanced in the rear-view mirror. Bobby was following them in his beater of a truck. No one had even needed to say anything. They had just taken for granted that Bobby would be there to back them up. John knew Bobby loved his kids like they were his own. He sometimes envied the relationship he had with the boys. He could see in their eyes that they loved Bobby, but they didn't fear him. There was an ease with Bobby that they didn't have with John. John knew it was necessary to instill some fear into his sons. He needed them to do as they were told without question. Still, though, he often regretted that he couldn't just enjoy spending time with them.

"How much longer?" Dean broke the silence that had lingered in the car for the last 150 miles.

"We should be at the hospital in under 2 hours," John said.

Dean straightened up in his seat. John could feel his son watching him.

"Dad," Dean started. He stopped, seeming to try to find the right words.

"You already apologized, Dean," John said flatly. "It wasn't necessary last time and it isn't necessary now."

"It's not your fault," Dean said quickly.

"It is, Dean," John said in a tone that told his son he didn't want an argument. "It was my decision to leave Sam behind."

"Sam needed more time with Jim," Dean said softly. "You were doing what was best for him."

There was a silence that followed. John didn't want to argue his guilt, but he would be damned if he would let Dean take the guilt on himself.

"It isn't _your_ fault, Dean," John said quietly. "I know you're beating yourself up over all this, but it isn't your fault. What's done is done. We just need to concentrate on getting Sam back."

John couldn't keep the quiver out of his voice as he spoke. He cursed under his breath as he lost the battle against his tears. They spilled down his cheeks.

"We'll get him back, Dean." John promised.


	8. Chapter 8

OMG SO SORRY it took so long for me to post this chapter. I'm going to try to wrap this up in the next few days. I hope. It was probably silly of me to make my first fanfic such a lengthy one. I should have aimed smaller.

* * *

Sam hugged his knees to his chest and wiped his tear-stained cheek on the sleeve of his sweatshirt. He tried not to panic at the amount of blood that covered his sleeve. He could feel the sticky wetness on the side of his face. He looked around at his new prison. It was a lot different than his last one. He appeared to be in a cellar. A single light bulb hung from the ceiling. There was a door that Sam knew led to a stairway.

He couldn't go through this again. It was all coming back to him. The beatings. The endless hours waiting and wondering when the demon would come back and what he would do next. Sam knew he had to do something. He recited the exorcism ritual in his head. He had it memorized. He could do it, but he needed a way to trap the demon so that he could get through the ritual without the demon killing him first.

Sam looked at a hole in the drywall where the demon had missed his head and kicked the wall instead. The drywall was made of a white material that lay in pieces all over the floor. Sam scooted himself over to the broken drywall and moved one of the pieces across the concrete floor. It left a white chalk line. Hope flared in his chest.

He quickly moved over to the area of the floor in front of the only door that led to the cellar and started to draw the devil's trap. He knew what it looked like. He'd stared at it for hours before while Jim worked on his sermon at his desk. As he drew the trap, he recited the ritual over and over in his head. He had to get it right. He prayed he would be able to recite it clearly enough. He remembered Jim's tips on how to form the words correctly. It had been difficult to learn without being able to hear how it sounded, but Jim had assured him he was doing it well. He hoped the Pastor was being truthful and not just trying to instill confidence in him by telling him he was doing better than he actually was doing.

Sam looked at the finished trap and felt satisfied that it looked the same as the trap he'd seen in the book he'd looked at in Jim's study. He sat back and stared at the door. All he could do now was wait.

* * *

Jim Murphy glared at the cast that encased his elevated leg. His stomach was wound so tight he felt like he couldn't breathe. He'd let the Winchesters down. He was supposed to be protecting Sam. He had insisted that Sam come with him into town. If he'd just let Sam stay home, none of this would have happened. Sam would still be safe.

Jim knew in the back of his mind that it wasn't his fault. Reason, however, did nothing to ease the ache of his heart.

The sound of the door flying open made Jim jump. John flew into the room, his face a mask of practiced stoicism that didn't fool Jim. He knew his friend was frantic with worry for his youngest son. Dean and Bobby followed closely behind John, failing miserably at hiding their worry.

"Jim," Bobby was the first to speak. "Are you alright?"

"I'm alright, Bobby, thank you," Jim said solemnly. He turned his attention to John. He tried, without success, to keep the quiver of emotion from his voice. "I'm so sorry, John. I couldn't save him."

"It isn't your fault, Jim," John said quietly. "There was nothing you could have done."

Jim felt himself relax at his friend's absolution. He felt a marginal lessening of the incredible weight he was feeling on his shoulders, but the weight didn't lift completely. Jim didn't think it ever would.

"Did Argus give you any indication about where he might be going?" John asked in a pleading, helpless tone. "Did he say anything?"

"I'm sorry, John," Jim whispered. "All he said was 'Give John my regards.'"

Jim watched John set his jaw. A smoldering look passed over his face before being quickly replaced by his ever-present stoicism.

"What are we supposed to do," Dean's voice rose in panic. He looked like he was about to lose it, and Jim felt the need to wrap his arms around the boy and shield him from his pain. "We don't know where to look. We don't even know what we're looking for. He could be possessing anyone."

"Stop, Dean," John said suddenly. "We'll find him."

John moved over to his oldest and placed his hand on the back of his neck.

"We can't lose our heads, Dean," John said quietly. "Sammy needs us."

"I know, Dad," Dean said as he lost the battle against his emotions. Tears leaked from his eyes and sprinkled down his cheeks. "I'm just so scared. He could be anywhere. He could be hurt. He's alone."

John pulled Dean into a tight embrace, and Jim fought his own tears as he watched. The Winchesters were the tightest family he'd ever met. Their love for each other was something for all to envy. Watching them always made Jim feel a sadness over the loss of his own family.

The door opened, and Bobby walked in. Jim hadn't even realized he'd left.

"I spoke to your doctor, Jim," Bobby said as he cleared his throat. "He said you've got the all-clear to be sprung."

"Thank you, Bobby," Jim said with a small smile. "Let's go get Sammy back."

* * *

Sam felt himself come slowly to awareness. He felt the overwhelming sensation that he was not alone, and his eyes flew open. He gasped and backed himself up further into the wall.

In front of him, Argus paced back and forth inside the devil's trap like a caged tiger. His face was a mask of fury. He quickly realized that Argus must have walked in while he slept.

"What did you do, you little shit?"

Sam couldn't believe it had worked. He had him trapped. He wasted no time, beginning to recite the ritual immediately.

Argus threw his head back. At first, Sam thought the ritual was working. After a moment, he realized the demon was laughing. He faltered momentarily, embarrassed at the demon's laughter, but didn't stop.

"_...eradicare et effugare a Dei Ecclesia, ab animabus ad imaginem Dei conditis ac pretioso divini Agni sanguine redemptis..." _

Sam watched as the demon's laughter died and he began to look worried. It was working. Sam was encouraged by the demon's faltering ego, and he continued, trying to make his voice even louder.

"_Non ultra audeas, serpens callidissime, decipere humanum genus, Dei Ecclesiam persequi, ac Dei electos excutere et cribrare sicut triticum..."_

Sam felt a knot form in his stomach as the demon again threw his head back. This time, instead of laughter, a black cloud flew from his mouth.

Sam felt himself panting. In his panic, he found it hard to breath. He watched as the man, who had moments earlier been possessed, tumbled bonelessly to the floor. Sam sat and stared at the man. The man's eyes stared lifelessly back at Sam.

With shaking hands, Sam reached forward and poked a finger at the man's shoulder. The man was definitely dead. He had never seen a dead body before, and it took all his strength to keep from retching all over the floor.

Sam stood slowly, still watching the man closely. He edged around the man, putting as much space between himself and the body as he could. He rushed out the doorway into a small hallway. He made his way up a narrow staircase that led to another door. He said a silent prayer in his head that the door would be unlocked and turned the knob. The door opened, and Sam breathed a sigh of relief. He cautiously peered out the door and took in the surroundings. The door seemed to lead to a kitchen of what he assumed was a house. He eased himself out from behind the door and crept quietly through the tiny kitchen toward a small window above the sink. He cautiously peered outside. It must have been early evening, because there was still a lightness to the sky, but he could see that the stars were starting to emerge. There were several other houses around and some old buildings that looked like warehouses. From the state of the houses, he guessed he wasn't in the best of neighborhoods.

Sam hadn't felt the presence of anyone else in the house, but he didn't trust his new-found gift enough to proceed without caution. He tiptoed gently through the house toward what he assumed was the front door. He turned the knob gently and eased himself outside. The cold night air bit at him immediately. The wind picked up and he breathed in the taste of freedom. It felt good to be outside, even if he had no idea where he was.

He made his way down the front steps of the small house to the sidewalk and looked down each direction of the desolate street. One direction seemed to lead to an everlasting horizon of increasingly derelict-looking houses. The other direction looked like it led to a mixture of warehouses and small stores. Hoping to find a gas station or grocery store with a phone, he decided to head in the direction of the warehouses and stores.

It didn't take long for Sam to find what he was looking for. Just a few blocks down, he found a small cafe. Cautiously, he stepped inside. Except for a couple of old men drinking coffee at the counter and a waitress keeping their cups full, the place was empty. As he entered, the waitress looked up. A look of shock passed over her face, and Sam was momentarily confused before he realized he was probably sporting a few bruises from his earlier encounter with Argus. Sam paused for a moment and considered making a break for it. What if the woman called the police?

"Are you okay, baby?" Sam watched the waitress's mouth as she formed the words. At her comment, the men at the counter looked up from their coffee. They furrowed their brows but, uninterested in getting involved, went back to drinking their coffee.

Sam didn't think he had the energy to concoct a story, so he made one simple request.

"Phone?"

The woman seemed to be able to tell immediately that something wasn't right about Sam. Rather than have her draw her own conclusions, he spelled it out for her.

"I'm deaf," He said plainly. "Will you help me call my dad?"

His words had the effect he'd hoped for. The woman melted immediately.

"OF COURSE!" She said as she grabbed a phone from behind the counter and set it within his reach. Sam could see that she was shouting, and he tried to keep from rolling his eyes. "WHY DON'T YOU DIAL THE NUMBER AND I'LL TALK TO HIM FOR YOU."

Sam didn't like having to depend on a stranger to contact his father, but he would have no way of knowing if his father answered the phone. He nodded quietly and dialed the number. He watched the woman carefully as she put the phone to her ear.

"IT'S RINGING," she yelled.

"THANK YOU," Sam yelled back.

* * *

John ran a callused hand over his weary face as he drove the Impala slowly down another street. It was getting late and harder to see. He wasn't entirely sure what he was looking for, but he couldn't sit around waiting any longer. They had no leads. They had a rough description of the man Argus may or may not still be possessing and a rough description of a truck he may or may not still be driving. He sighed heavily and cast a glance at Dean. His eldest was watching carefully out the window for any sign of his brother, the man, or the truck. He hated the idea of heading back to Jim's and calling off the search for the night, but he knew looking after dark would be useless. The trick would be convincing Dean that it was time to pack it in.

He was about to make the suggestion that they head back to Jim's when his cell phone rang. He checked the caller ID, expecting the call to be from Jim or Bobby. A mixture of suspicion and hope flared in his chest when he realized he didn't recognize the number.

"Hello?" Not trusting giving his name to a stranger, he opted to give a more general greeting.

"Hello? Yes...um...are you...ah..." John waited impatiently as he listed to the woman sputtering on the other end of the line. Thinking she was a telemarketer, he was about to hang up, but her next words made his stomach jump.

"WHAT'S YOUR DADDY'S NAME, SWEETY?" John heard the woman yelling to someone in the background and knew immediately it was Sam. "John? Are you John?"

"Yes! Yes, I'm John!" John yelled as he slammed on the brakes to his truck. He quickly pulled off the road and looked over to Dean. Dean was watching him intently. John turned his attention back to the woman and began shooting questions at her. "Is Sammy there? Is he okay? Where are you?"

"He looks a little rough around the edges, but he's okay," the woman said. "He's hurt. It looks like he's been in a fight."

John cursed silently under his breath.

"Where are you?" he demanded. He tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. He didn't want to scare the woman.

"At Luann's Cafe on the corner of 2nd and Main," the woman said, her southern drawl sounding slightly exaggerated.

John furrowed his brow as he thought. He knew there was nothing like that in the town they'd been searching.

"What town?"

"Middletown," the woman said in a tone that told him she had thought that was obvious. "Home of the best apple pie in the Midwest."

John looked at his cell phone incredulously before placing it back to his ear.

"Listen," he said quietly. "Please do not let my son out of your sight. I'll be there as quickly as I can."

"Sure sugar," the woman drawled on. "But hurry. Poor thing looks scared to death."

John closed his eyes and fought the tears that were threatening to escape. He disconnected the call and looked at Dean.

"He's two towns over," John said quietly. "He's okay."

John watched Dean's shoulders slump with relief. Tears sprung to his eyes as he looked heavenward and mouthed a silent "Thank You."


	9. Chapter 9

Sam watched the woman as she talked to his father on the phone. He felt encouraged by her side of the conversation. His dad was coming for him.

"HE'LL BE HERE SOON," the woman shouted at him after she hung up the phone.

Sam felt an indescribable feeling of relief. Jim had promised him that his father and Dean were on their way back a few days ago. He had hoped that they were close. He needed the safety and security he felt in his father's presence, and he needed to be near Dean. Dean made everything okay.

The waitress dished up a piece of pie and came around the counter with it. She ushered Sam to one of the booths and sat him down. She placed the pie in front of him and patted his head. Sam couldn't help feeling like he was a stray dog being fed scraps from the table, but he accepted the offering gratefully. He was hungry. He dove into the pie, barely tasting it as it slid down his throat. It filled his stomach with a warm sensation.

As he scraped the plate clean, he suddenly felt a cool wetness against his head. His stomach did a flip, and he instinctually jumped and threw his arms up to protect his face. The waitress stood by the booth, staring at him with pity in her eyes. She held a wet rag in her hand.

"You poor dear," she said. "What in the world happened to you?" Sam was sure she hadn't meant for him to know what she said. She couldn't have known that he could read lips so well. She looked at his face and smiled.

"I'M JUST GOING TO CLEAN YOU UP A LITTLE BIT," she shouted. "YOU'RE BLEEDING."

Sam wondered if he should try to explain to the woman that she didn't need to shout. He wondered what it was about being deaf that she couldn't comprehend. Would everyone treat him this way?

Deciding not to bother with trying to explain that shouting wouldn't make him hear her, he nodded. She dabbed the cloth against his forehead, and he flinched slightly. The pressure hurt. He wondered slightly how bad off he was. His face felt like he had gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson. His stomach and ribs hurt from where Argus had kicked him. He wondered if he had any cracked ribs. He pressed gently against one of the more tender spots and flinched. Yup, definitely hurt.

The woman seemed to think his flinch was a response to the pressure she was putting on his face wounds, and she recoiled.

"I'M SORRY," she said. She seemed to look like she didn't know what to do, so she put the rag on the table and scampered off to the kitchen. She came back moments later with more pie.

Sam was okay with feeling like a stray dog.

The wind seemed to pick up outside, and the door suddenly flew open. A cool breeze swept through the diner, and Sam shivered. He suddenly felt an overwhelmingly uneasy feeling. He felt a presence that wasn't there before. The feeling he got was similar to the feeling he had when Argus was around, but different. It was stronger, and it felt impossibly more evil.

The waitress hurried over to the door and forced it shut. The wind seemed to die down outside, but Sam's uneasy feeling lingered. He glanced around the diner. The number of patrons hadn't changed. There were still two old men sitting at the counter, drinking their coffee quietly. One of them seemed to feel Sam watching them and glanced his way. There was something about the man that made Sam want to bolt out the door, but he stayed frozen in the booth. The man met Sam's gaze and smiled. Sam watched, horrified, as the man's eyes turned yellow.

"Sammy?" Sam turned toward the door, startled to hear his name being called. He _heard_ it. Suddenly a dozen different sounds came at him at once. Someone was washing dishes in the kitchen. There was a clatter as the waitress dropped a plate. The bell above the door jingled as his father followed Dean into the diner. He could hear.

He spun back around in search of the man with yellow eyes, but he was gone. And just as suddenly as the sounds had come at him, they were swept away. Sam was deaf again.

* * *

Dean watched Sam's shocked expression and froze. He could have sworn that his brother had heard him call his name. Sam seemed to search the diner frantically before sagging into the cushions of the booth he was sitting in. He looked tired, beaten, and defeated. It broke Dean's heart.

Rushing to his brother's side, Dean scooped Sam up into a tight hug.

"I'm so sorry, little brother," Dean sobbed into his brother's shoulder. "I'll never leave you again. I swear it."

Dean knew his brother couldn't hear his words, but he had learned long ago that Sam still seemed to be soothed by the vibrations of Dean's throat when he talked. After a long moment, Sam hesitantly reached his hands around Dean and hugged him back.

After another minute, Dean pulled himself away so that he could get a good look at his baby brother. Sam's face had an assortment of cuts and bruises that looked raw and painful. His hair and face were dirty. The worst part, however, was the utterly lost expression in Sam's eyes. Dean carefully placed a hand on either side of Sam's face, mindful of the cuts and bruises. He stared into Sam's eyes, searching for something that told him his brother was okay.

"Sammy?"

Sam's only response was a single tear that spilled down his cheek. His gaze slid from Dean's face toward the door, and Dean followed his line of sight. His dad was still standing in front of the diner's door. He had his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Dean was shocked to see tears streaming down his father's face, unchecked.

John took a step forward, then hesitated.

**I'm sorry, Sammy. **John signed slowly. Another tear dripped down his cheek. Dean had never before seen the pained expression his father wore. The proud, militaristic man was gone, replaced by a remorseful, helpless man begging for forgiveness.

Sam stood slowly and crossed the floor of the diner toward his father. He stretched his arms around his father's waist in a tight embrace. John closed his eyes as he hugged his son back. He bent down and scooped Sam up into his arms and hugged him tightly. Over Sam's shoulder, he stole a glance at Dean. He smiled and nodded slightly.

Dean threw a few bills onto the table where his brother had been sitting and nodded his thanks to the waitress before he followed his father and brother out the door.

The ride back to Jim's was silent. Dean opted to sit in back with Sam. He couldn't seem to let his brother out of his reach. Sam lay across the bench seat, his head in Dean's lap. Dean stroked his hair and watched him carefully. Sam stayed quiet, staring straight ahead. Dean wished he knew what was running through his brother's mind.

Dean stole a glance at his father. He'd felt him watching them from the rearview mirror several times. John kept a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel as he drove. Dean felt almost as strong a desire to know what his father was thinking.

He'd managed a little bit of sleep during the long car journey, but woke shortly before they arrived at Jim's. Dean guessed that John must have called ahead at some point during the evening because Bobby and Jim were outside waiting to greet them as they drove up Jim's driveway.

Dean glanced down at Sam and noted that his brother had finally fallen asleep. Not wanting to wake him, he motioned for his father to help him. Sam's head wobbled backward as Dean propped him up so that John could reach into the back seat and pull him out. Dean watched his little brother's arms and legs dangle as John carried him into the house. He scooched himself out of the back seat and hurried ahead so that he could open the door.

Dean followed John up the stairs and hurried ahead of him into the bedroom that he and Sam shared. He pulled back the covers on the bed closest to the wall and John tenderly tucked his youngest in. He brushed Sam's unruly bangs away from his eyes and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.

* * *

When Sam woke up, the sky was a light shade of orange, telling him it was early evening. Since it had been late at night when he'd fallen asleep in the Impala, he guessed that he'd slept through the night and most of the following day. He immediately recognized his surroundings and wondered if the past two days had been a bad dream. He shifted slightly and felt a stab of pain in his ribs. He knew then that it had been all too real.

His mind went immediately to the yellow-eyed man in the diner and the brief moment when he'd regained his hearing. There was no doubt in his mind that the two were connected. For the second time, he mourned the loss of his hearing. This time, it felt worse. More final. He knew the yellow-eyed man was the same demon his father had spent most of Sam's life hunting. It had to be. He wondered what it would do to his father if he told him he'd seen the demon. Something told Sam he wouldn't see the demon again for a very long time. Something in the smile the demon had given him told him more than he could have said in words. He was showing Sam what he was capable of, but he had no intention of sticking around.

Sam sighed as he stared at the ceiling. No, he wouldn't tell his father about the demon. What could it possibly accomplish other than to make his father's quest to find the demon even more frenzied and crazy than it already was.

He glanced across the room toward Dean's bed. He wasn't surprised to see the bed was empty. If it was early evening, everyone else would be up. He moaned slightly as he sat up. The strain sent a searing pain through his ribs.

He padded across the wood floor to the bathroom across the hall. After relieving himself, he stole a glance at himself in the mirror. He looked awful. Dark circles hung under his eyes and his face was pale, which made the bruises and scratches that littered his cheeks, forehead, and neck stand out. He gingerly lifted his shirt and wasn't surprised to see an assortment of bruises lining his sides. He looked down at them and started to poke at them curiously. A hand caught his, and he jumped. He looked up to see his father standing over him, his face angry. It took Sam a moment to realize the anger wasn't at Sam but at the creep who'd given him the bruises.

John gently touched Sam's sides. Sam looked up into his father's face and read his mouth as he spoke.

"Are they tender?"

Sam nodded and winced as his father poked at his ribs, trying to determine the extent of the damage.

"Nothing seems to be broken," John said.

Sam nodded again and let his shirt drop.

John moved slowly over to the other side of the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub. When he looked at Sam again, he had unshed tears in his eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Sammy," he said softly.

Sam watched his father's mouth as he spoke, but didn't say anything.

"I didn't know how to handle..." John stopped for a moment, seeming to try to choose his words carefully. "I mean... no parent wants to see their child suffer. I didn't know how to handle it."

John let a few tears slip down his cheeks before he continued.

"And I didn't know how you could possibly handle our way of life," He finished.

Sam nodded and started to move away before John caught his arm. Sam looked back at his father.

"I was wrong, Sam."

Sam couldn't help the sharp intake of breath. For as long as he could recall, he had never heard his father admit that he was wrong about anything.

"You handled yourself well enough to get free and get help," John said. "I didn't give you enough credit, Champ."

Sam felt warmth spread through his body. His father was proud of him.


	10. Epilogue

Dean bobbed his head to the music and leaned down to turn it up. He stole a glance at his sleeping brother in the back seat and smiled slightly.

"Dean," his father warned.

"What," Dean said with a smile. "He can't hear it."

John gave Dean a glare as he turned the radio down.

"I can," John said, mock venom in his voice.

Dean rolled his eyes and cast another glance at the back seat. Sam was leaned back, his head resting against the window. A small pool of drool trailed down his chin from his slightly parted lips. It almost felt like things were back to normal. They were back on the road, and the Impala felt more like home than ever.

Sam had been morose and quiet during the days that followed his second abduction. Through a great deal of coercing, they had managed to get the gist of what happened. Dean smiled. He was proud of his baby brother. Sam had handled himself better than anyone could have hoped for. Better than he probably would have been able to do before he'd become deaf, in fact.

Dean's face darkened briefly as he remembered back to a few nights ago. Sam had made him swear never to tell anyone about the new "gifts" Sam seemed to have gained. He had told Dean about the almost psychic-type feelings he would get when people entered a room. Dean had put on a show of not being the least bit concerned, but inside he was freaked out. He had agreed that it was a good thing to keep his new-found abilities a secret from everyone else, but tried to convince him that he should tell Dad. Sam had been adamant that he didn't want their father to know about it. Not yet. Dean had reluctantly agreed to keep his brother's secret.

As Dean had thought about it more and more, he had to admit to himself that he did feel a little bit glad that Sam had gained the freaky powers. Dean was terrified that his brother's loss of hearing left him vulnerable. There was a small amount of comfort in knowing he had a slight advantage.

When they had left Pastor Jim's yesterday, John had taken Dean aside and asked him for the hundredth time if he was doing the right thing by taking Sam on the road with them. Dean had been unnerved by his father's uncharacteristic lack of confidence. He had watched as Sam suddenly looked to them, seeming to know he was the topic of conversation. Dean had smiled at his father and reassured him that, yes, his little brother would be okay.

End.

Hope you liked it. I'm planning to continue this story line... someday!


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